


Blood and Trust

by Liaegypt



Series: Blood and Trust [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaegypt/pseuds/Liaegypt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Bosmer slave is unwillingly caught up in the vampiric intrigues of Morrowind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an updated version of my first "published" fanfic from many years ago. I will be adding chapters as I edit them. This is just part of my effort to transfer my previous works to AO3, but any feedback is welcome. Enjoy!

The cell was only large enough to hold a pallet to sleep on, and a bucket in place of a chamber pot. Raema had a sudden urge to slosh its contents through the bars of the cell door, and ruin the expensive rug that decorated the main room of the market. Instead she gingerly touched her swollen eye, wondering if it looked as bad as it felt. Ruining the rug would only earn her another beating, and maybe worse. She thought of Sarathram’s large bed upstairs, and shuddered. She had managed to discourage him last time, but if he was determined enough-- or angry enough...

She heard the trader's door open, and leaned forward to peer out of her cell. Sarathram was back. Her spirits lifted when another figure followed him inside. With a customer there, the trader would refrain from his usual abuse. And if she was lucky, she would be sold, and finally have a chance to escape...

She watched the stranger with interest. He was completely cloaked in black, and his face was hidden within the hood of his robe. Raema caught glimpses of black leather boots under the hem of his robe as he walked with Sarathram, examining the slaves in each cell. He had the characteristically deep, gravelly voice of a Dunmer, but Raema could not hear the words he softly spoke. Sarathram, however, sounded nervous, or frightened. This must be an important man; likely rich. She leaned back against the wall and waited.

“And what is this?” The stranger said, as he and Sarathram stopped in front of her cell. She eyed them sullenly. The cloaked man gestured towards her with a leather-gloved hand; the fingers were long and slender, rather graceful. “Surely you are not trading in damaged goods, Dranas?”

The slave trader bared his teeth. “ _Damage_ seems to be the only thing keeping this one in line, ser. I thought a Bosmer would fetch a good price, but it’s not the sort of merchandise anyone around here has much interest in. Especially with a temperament like that,” he added sourly. Raema wondered if she could reach the knife strapped on Sarathram’s leg, if she was fast enough.

“ _That_ is a Wood Elf?” the stranger sounded amused. “You ought to have her cleaned up a bit, Dranas. Maybe she would fetch a better price if your customers could tell _what_ she is.”

Dranas Sarathram chuckled nervously. “You know I keep my goods as clean as I can, ser. But this one…a bucket of water tossed over her is all she’ll allow most of the time. I’ve half a mind to ship her out to the mines with the next group, just to get rid of her. Waste of food and space,” he added, and spat at her. Raema eyed the spittle on her arm, and decided not to bother with it. She turned her gaze on the trader, unblinking, and after a moment he sneered and turned away. “Now, ser, if you’d like some more time to choose, I’ll just go upstairs and draw up the papers for the purchase contract. It won’t be but a few moments.”

“Certainly,” the stranger replied with a gracious dip of his head. Sarathram hurried up the stairs, and the cloaked Dunmer moved out of Raema’s sight, perusing the other slaves once more.

A moment later he appeared in front of her cell again, staring down at her. Raema stared back into the black void of his hood, and wondered inanely if she was meeting his gaze, or if he was so horribly disfigured that his eyes were not placed naturally.

“Do you speak?” he asked suddenly.

“Go bugger a guar,” Raema smiled.

He made a sound that might have been amused or annoyed; a puff of breath that made the cloth of his hood stir. “You want to leave this place, do you not?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said pleasantly. “The service could be better, but I must say the food is fantastic.”

A chuckle sounded from the depths of his hood. “And if I take you home, what else can I expect from you, besides your sage advice and rapier wit?”

“I’ll kill you,” she offered helpfully, gauging the distance to his hood. If she could reach far enough, she might be able to get his eyes….

She realized he was laughing softly. “I admire your spirit,” he said. “I have no doubt that you would try. It certainly might be amusing, for one of us.”

Raema tensed, shifted slightly to be able to lunge at just the right moment-

The stranger turned away as Dranas Sarathram returned, carrying a pile of scrolls down the stairs. “My apologies for the wait, ser,” he began.

“It is no trouble,” the hooded Dunmer interrupted. “There is no need for the contracts. I will be taking the Bosmer.”

Raema stood and moved to the front of her cell, watching closely. She smiled in satisfaction as she watched Sarathram work through his confusion.

“Noble ser,” he said hesitantly. “If you truly wish to take the hellion, I commend you, but surely you understand the purchase must be properly recorded-”

“There will be no _purchase_ ,” the stranger broke in. “You were going to send her to the mines, a free bonus for the miners, were you not? Surely an ethical man such as yourself will have his conscience eased by giving her to a far gentler master?”

“But-”

“Dranas,” the man continued, and his voice had changed. It was lower, dangerous and soft. “You forget I have very little need to _pay_ you for anything.”

Sarathram stared at the darkness in the man’s hood and blanched, turning a pale, sickly green. “Of- of course, my lord,” he stammered quickly. “Of course. I shall get her for you right away.”

The stranger stood motionless, watching Sarathram cross the room to Raema’s cell. The trader fumbled with his keys before fitting one hastily into the lock. As he swung the door open, Raema crouched and snatched the knife from the low sheath on his leg. While he stumbled backwards in surprise, she rose up, sliding the knife between his ribs in the same movement. His eyes went wide; she shoved him off the knife and turned.

The stranger was immediately behind her. Even as she was thinking that was impossible, that he _couldn’t_ have moved so fast, he caught her wrist and twisted, quicker than her next thought. She heard the knife hit the floor, and cried out as pain flared up her arm. She froze, gasping, afraid to move, knowing her arm was perilously close to breaking in any number of places.

“An admirable effort,” the man said, sounding amused. “Futile, but impressive.” A slight pressure on her arm, and her knees buckled. He bore her down to the floor, one knee pressing into her spine. Tears streamed down Raema’s face. She could hear Sarathram’s breath rattling in his throat, slower and slower. The other slaves were silent, presumably watching.

“You will understand this,” the man said in that dangerous voice, all trace of amusement gone. “You belong to me. You are my slave, and I am your master. There will be no escape attempts. There will be no attempts to harm me. If your behavior becomes too great a nuisance, I will kill you. Is my meaning clear?”

Defiantly, Raema clamped her lips shut. Pain jolted through her arm, and she screamed.

“Is it clear?” He repeated calmly.

“Yes!” Raema cried out, and gasped in relief as he let her go. She slumped to the floor, limp, as he rose and went to Sarathram’s corpse. She watched as he took the keys from the trader’s hand, and tossed them through one of the cell doors. The slaves cowered away from him, making no attempt to pick up the keys.

“Get up,” he said, turning his hood towards her. Raema shuddered, but struggled to her feet.

“We will be traveling tonight,” he continued. “Find some clothing to wear.” He turned away, rummaging through the cupboards of food. Gingerly Raema tested her arm; it was sore, but not injured. She went upstairs and found some pants and a shirt in Sarathram’s closet. She dressed carefully, happy to have real clothing on her skin again.

She was surprised to realize it was raining as they stepped outside. She had no idea of the time, but it was late enough that even the red lantern at Desele’s place was unlit. The cold water on the cobblestones under her feet sent shivers up her skin.

“Keep up,” her captor rasped softly, making his way towards the town gate. Raema glanced hopefully around the town, wondering if anyone would see them. _See what?_ she thought dejectedly. _Another customer leaving the market with a new slave. No help there._ As she plodded through the rain behind the cloaked man, the reality of her situation began to sink in. For all anyone knew, the stranger had legally purchased a slave. She was his property now, and no one would help her.

She was glad for the rain that hid the tears sliding down her cheeks, as she trailed after her master.

* * *

It seemed that they walked for hours. She had long since lost any sense of direction in the rain and the darkness, by the time the man finally paused and stared up at the sky. “We must go faster,” he told her, the first words he’d spoken since they had left Suran. He continued onward at a much quicker pace, almost a run, and Raema struggled to keep up.

After a while, she realized the sky was finally starting to lighten, even though the rain had not eased since they had started their trek.

In the pale light just before sunrise, the Dunmer stopped abruptly at a rickety wooden door set in the mountainside. Grateful for a moment's rest, Raema watched him pull out a key and unlock the door. When he opened the door and gestured her inside, she hesitated.

“It is quite safe,” he reassured her. “It has been locked since I stayed here yesterday.”

Raema ducked inside, and the man followed. The darkness pressed around them as he shut the door behind himself. Her eyes were just beginning to adjust when a flare of light made her squint.

“Take this,” the man told her, holding out a small lit torch. “There is a campfire farther in the cave. Light it.”

Wordlessly, Raema obeyed. Not far ahead, she did find a campfire, and a pallet laid on the floor. There was fresh wood on the campfire already, and she set to lighting it. The man joined her just as the fire caught, blazing life into the cave. She crouched on her heels and watched as the man moved about the cave, examining his belongings. It appeared that he was there often; there were chests and barrels of supplies deeper in the cave, and extra blankets stacked near the pallet.

“You must have questions. You may speak,” he said conversationally as he returned to the fire. “I know you certainly are capable of it.” She could hear a smile in his voice.

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly.

“My name is Assurjan,” he replied, sitting down on the pallet, across the fire from her. He reached up and drew back his hood, revealing a youthful dark elven face; his head was bare, but for a narrow topknot of black hair that trailed from the crown of his skull past his shoulders. His eyes were a solid milky white. “Ancient of Juraene clan.” As he spoke, his fangs flashed white in the firelight.

_Vampire!_ Raema’s mind shrieked. She was frozen, speechless. She had heard of the unholy ones, as they were called in the cities, the undead vampires of Vvardenfell... but she had always been as skeptical as most other city dwellers.

“You need not fear,” Assurjan said. “If I planned to drink your blood or consume your soul, or whatever else you may be imagining, I would hardly have gone to all the trouble to bring you here first.”

Raema willed her heart to stop racing, tried to catch her breath. “Why…why _am_ I here?”

Assurjan smiled. “What do you know of my kind?”

“Only that most people believe you only exist in…in nightmares.”

“Ah. Then this will require a more complicated answer than your last question did. You must be hungry. There is food in the bag; find something you like and I will explain while you eat.”

At the mention of food, she realized he was right. It seemed like days since she had last eaten. Feeling slightly dazed, Raema stood and looked through the sack that the vampire had indicated, finding bread, salted guar meat, and a small skin of shein. As she settled back on the floor of the cave with her finds, trying not to notice the way Assurjan’s unearthly eyes glowed in the firelight, he began to speak.

“It is true that, on the mainlands, vampires are nearly extinct. Many centuries ago, most were killed off by the Empress. She wished to destroy us, and she nearly succeeded. But some vampires escaped to Morrowind, and the Imperials did not follow. At that time, the Ashlanders were the only inhabitants of the island, and Morrowind was even more of a harsh, unforgiving wilderness than it is now. Here, we survived when others dared not try.

“There are three other vampire clans, bloodlines, in Morrowind: Aundae, Berne, and Quarra. At best, the clans are not on speaking terms; usually, they are at war with one or the other. I was a Berne.”

He paused, staring at the fire, and Raema felt a twinge of compassion for whatever memories he was reliving. Then the absurdity of it caught up with her. He was a _vampire_. Whatever was myth or truth about his kind, he was beyond her sympathy.

“We had…disagreements, the Ancient and I,” he continued after a moment. “The Ancient of a clan is the leader, a vampire with vast power and strength. Usually a young vampire, like myself at the time, is far below the notice of the Ancient. But somehow, I was graced with unusual strength, early. It caught his attention. He saw so much potential in me that he began to train me to be his second in command.

“But I disagreed with many of his methods, his decisions. I grew overconfident, and challenged his authority more and more. He dealt with it, harshly, but continued to give me more chances. I think he still hoped he could benefit from my power... Until he discovered that the new vampires I created were loyal only to me and had no ties to the rest of Berne. Essentially, I was creating my own bloodline. He ordered me destroyed, and I was lucky to escape unharmed.”

Raema thought this over as she finished her shein. “You were a threat to his power,” she ventured. Assurjan nodded.

“The Berne vampires have been hunting me since. They know I have been gathering strength, but not where. I am forming my own clan, the Juraene.”

“And…me?” Raema asked, half afraid to hear the answer.

The vampire smiled, flashing fangs, and she swallowed hard.

“You are to be the Hand of the Ancient.

“The title of _Hand_ itself is an ancient term. Centuries ago, clan Ancients had servants, living men and women called Hands, rather like the Telvanni Mouths for the Councillors. A Hand was his Ancient’s voice in the living world; able to travel in daylight, speak safely with the living, and protect the Ancient. They fell out of favor after two Ancients were betrayed by their Hands. But Juraene Clan will have a Hand, and you are the one I have chosen.”

Raema blinked, trying to absorb all he had said. “And you trust _me_ for this?” she asked, incredulous.

Assurjan bared his teeth, not quite a smile. “Not yet,” he said. “We have a bargain to strike first.”

In spite of herself, Raema snorted derisively. “A _bargain_? I thought I was your slave. Don’t you simply have to order me to do whatever it is that…that a Hand does?”

“In theory,” the vampire said evenly. “For example, I _could_ order you to speak to me with more respect. But I cannot yet trust you with even that simple task, so I expect I may need to physically demonstrate _why_ it is necessary for you to do so.” His eyes bored into hers.

Raema swallowed. “Forgive me,” she said softly. “I meant no disrespect.”

He ignored her apology. “Our bargain is this: If you can prove to me that you can be trusted to act in all capacities of a Hand that I deem necessary, then I shall name you Hand of the Ancient of Juraene Clan. Outside of your duties in that position, you shall enjoy any freedoms you wish that do not endanger the clan. And in time, provided Juraene Clan survives its formation and thrives, you shall be released from slavery and become a free citizen of Morrowind.”

Raema blinked. “And... if not?”

Assurjan’s expression did not change. “If Juraene Clan fails, due to your own actions or otherwise, you will find a much harsher and unpleasant life in whichever clan assimilates you. The rest of us will be dead and no use to you. If you accept and then betray me in an attempt to escape, Juraene Clan will hunt you down, and as an escaped slave you will find no help from the living. And if you refuse altogether, you will join the cattle, the slaves upon which we feed.”

“That doesn’t leave me much of a choice, does it?” Raema said bitterly.

“Unpleasant as it may be, it is still a choice; something slaves are rarely offered,” the vampire said, getting to his feet. “Lie down,” he said, gesturing at the pallet.

Raema froze, stricken, a new fear washing over her. Assurjan only shrugged. “Or sleep on the rocks. You need not worry; wherever you rest, you will enjoy your sleep alone. I have no need of it. However, we travel at sundown. I will expect your answer by then,” he added over his shoulder, striding away from the fire.

Raema sat for another moment, her head swimming. It was a choice, but not much of one. She half expected that her mind was already made up and simply refused to admit it. She rose and walked around the campfire to the pallet. After the stony floor of the cave, the thin blankets felt like feather pillows. She was bone weary, she realized, and laid down, pulling a spare blanket over herself. She was still wondering how she would be able to rest with all the strange turns her life was taking, when sleep claimed her.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The last embers of the fire died as she awoke. Raema watched the glow fade, sleepily mulling over her uncertain future. _A Hand to the Ancient of a vampire clan. I’ve never had a_ title _before. I’m just a thief. This is foolishness...._

_But what else can I do?_

She sat up stiffly, rubbing at goosebumps on her arms. The small lantern across the cold fire remained lit, casting dimly flickering shadows around her. Realizing that the vampire was nowhere in sight, Raema stood and picked up the lantern, listening carefully. She placed a hand against the wall of the cave to steady herself in the dimness and cautiously followed it to the wooden door at the entrance.

It was raining again; she could hear it, smell the moisture in the air. Silently, thanking the gods for her Bosmer heritage, she crouched to peer under the door.

She could see nothing, which did not surprise her. The vampire would not have gone out during daylight, and no moonlight would pierce the rainclouds. Wishing for at least one flash of lightning, she rose to her feet and extinguished the lantern. With a deep breath and a blink to adjust her eyes, she pulled open the door. Just as she stepped into the rain, the vampire seemed to solidify out of the the darkness itself, not five paces from her. Raema froze.

“Good evening,” Assurjan said without surprise. He did not pause but continued walking, so that Raema was forced to back into the cave, out of his way. He firmly pulled the door shut behind him and brushed past her toward the back of the cave, pulling down the hood of his cloak.

Raema glanced wistfully at the door, and a memory of the night before came with a dull ache in her arm. He would catch her before she took three steps. With a resigned sigh, she turned to join him deeper in the cavern. He had opened one of the crates across from the fire and was rummaging through its contents. A second lantern shed a small pool of light on the ground beside him.

“What is your name?” he asked over his shoulder as she approached.

“Raema,” she told him, taking a crosslegged seat on the bedroll.

He did not look up. “Raema what?”

“Raema nothing. Slaves have no families. No family names.”

Assurjan’s voice sounded amused. “Of course. Well, Raema Nothing, what star were you born under?”

“The Lady.”

He turned his head sharply to look at her for the first time since his return. “Do not presume to lie to me,” he said flatly.

Raema swallowed, and thought better of her answer. “The Shadow.”

Assurjan’s lips twisted into a half-smile. “Much more useful than the Lady, I imagine. Especially for a thief.” He turned back to the crate, rattling its metal contents as he continued to search through it. Feeling braver without those unnatural eyes upon her, Raema ventured, “And your birth star is....?”

“Vampires are not _born_ ,” he informed her simply.

"But... _you_ were born, before you..." Raema trailed off as Assurjan straightened up from the crate, a sheathed shortsword in his hands. He eyed her for a long moment. "The man I used to be, the one whose life began at birth, died when I became a vampire. I am not entirely alive, Raema, and my birth star is irrelevant."

Having no response, Raema hugged her knees and watched him as he closed up the crate. She had long ago learned how to observe people, how to decide whether a noble with pockets ripe for picking might be a worthwhile target. The very way Assurjan moved suggested power and strength, and a gracefulness that only comes with supreme confidence in one’s abilities. If she had been sizing him up as a potential victim, it would be the confidence that deterred her. Power and strength were all very well, but the ones who truly had the confidence to _use_ them were the dangerous ones.

He sat down on a wooden chest across from her, resting the sword across his knees. “We have a long distance to cover before sunrise,” he said. “What decision have you made?”

Raema tried to ignore the strange feeling that her life was about to change irrevocably. “I…I will do it. I will train to be your Hand.”

“And you will give me your word that you will abide by the customs of Juraene clan in all aspects,” he said, not quite making it a question.

“....Yes. I give you my word.”

“Very good,” Assurjan said matter-of-factly. “Can you wield a blade?”

“I’m not bad with a short sword,” she admitted. “And I can shoot a bow.”

“Excellent.” He held out the sword he had found, hilt first. As she took it, she saw that it was silver; good quality. It felt strange to hold a weapon in her hands again; she clenched the grip and resisted the temptation to draw it on the vampire.

She looked up to meet his eyes, and was sure that he knew exactly what had run through her mind. “I trust that I need not _remind_ you of anything we discussed last night,” he said, his voice perilously close to that dangerous tone.

“No,” she replied hastily. Glancing down at the sword again, she added, “Thank you.”

“The proper form of address for a clan Ancient is ‘my lord’,” he said mildly.

Raema hesitated. “Thank you, my lord.”

Assurjan rose to his feet. “Put it on. We leave immediately; too much night has already been wasted.”

* * *

Just at first light, after another long, wet, dark walk, they arrived at their shelter for the day, another cave well-known to Assurjan. This cave was larger than the first, with natural “rooms” branching out from the main entrance. As Raema built up a fire, the vampire lit a lantern and rummaged through the pack that he carried with him. When Raema straightened up from the now crackling fire, he approached and handed her the lantern, some rough towels and a misshapen lump of something yellowish. “There is a pool of water near the back of the cave,” he told her.

Confused, she frowned at him. “What? My lord,” she added hastily.

With a smirk, he reached up and dragged a fingertip across her cheek. It came away coated in dirt. He held it up to her eyes. “Go bathe,” he said.

Raema felt herself blushing furiously. “Of course. My lord.” She snatched the bundle from his arms and hurried past him, wondering how so much filth could still cling to her skin after two nights of walking in the rain.

As he’d said, she found the pool in one of the rearmost branches of the main cave. Setting the lantern carefully on the ground, she inspected the bundle Assurjan had provided. There were several rough woven towels, and she realized the yellow lump was soap. The prospect of being clean again, truly clean, inspired her, and she hurried to undress.

She was pleasantly surprised to find that the water was warm, likely heated by the deep fires that boiled under the mountains. She scrubbed herself vigorously, enjoying the tingle that the harsh soap left on her skin. When she felt nearly raw, and imagined she could almost see the grime she had lost floating on top of the water, she carefully set the much smaller lump of soap on the edge of the pool and simply stood in the water, enjoying the first true comfort she’d had in a long time. Her thoughts turned, as they had the entire day, to how she was to escape. But no matter how she twisted and turned the smith’s puzzle of a predicament she was in, she could not untangle it. She knew Assurjan could crush her without a thought if she attacked him. And he did not sleep; but even if she could somehow slip away during the day, she doubted she could get very far before he found her after sundown. And he would kill her, as he’d said; she had no doubt of that.

_And you did give him your word,_ her conscience whispered. She pushed the voice away sourly, and eyed her clothing piled carelessly on the rocks. They were nearly as filthy as she had been. With a sigh of resignation that wasn’t for the clothes, she reached for the soap again.

 

Assurjan chuckled to himself as she fled, absently rubbing the dirt from his fingertip. He busied himself with checking the supplies stored in the cave, then sat down before the fire. He stared into the flames, wondering how the clan was doing without him. He knew it was a risk, leaving them alone for so long, but it was only a few more days…

Lost in his thoughts, he did not hear Raema approaching until she spoke. He had forgotten how silent Wood Elves could be when they wished.

“My lord?” she said softly. The honorific still seemed to stick reluctantly in her throat whenever she spoke it. “I washed my clothes, also; is there other clothing I can wear until they dry?”

He looked over at her and blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She didn’t seem to notice. “There is a chest of garments near the other lantern, there,” he remembered. “You are welcome to anything it contains.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, and it was an effort for him to turn his gaze away as she walked to the chest. She wore the largest of the towels wrapped about her torso, from chest to knees, but her skin glowed without the layers of grime, and her face…if vampires needed to breathe, Assurjan would have described her as breathtaking. Her black hair shone wetly in the firelight. He looked away, amused at himself. It had been a long time since a living woman affected him in such a way.

She returned dressed in dark pants and boots, and a black shirt. Her sword was strapped to her back. She was small enough that the short blade fit there well. He was glad he had chosen it for her; she seemed attached to it already.

“Assurjan,” she said, sitting down. He eyed her expressionlessly, and she quickly corrected her mistake. “My lord. On a journey such as this, what duties are expected of a Hand?”

“None that you are ready to perform,” he told her seriously, knowing that he would need to hunt soon. “You may eat, and sleep. At sundown I will need to leave you here for a time.”

“Why, my lord?” she asked. He ignored her, rising to gather a towel and the soap for himself. There would be time for her to understand such things later.

 

She awoke only a few moments before sundown, as he was readying himself to hunt. Neither of them spoke; he let her gather her things as if they were leaving, let her follow him to the cave entrance. “Wait here until I return,” he ordered, reaching for the door.

“Why?”

He turned sharply, advancing on her so fast that she was backed up against the wall even before she gasped in surprise. He was close enough to feel her heat on his skin, triggering another kind of hunger which he had no intention of feeding.

“There will come a time,” he hissed into the air between them, “when I allow or even require you to think about my orders, and question them if necessary. _When you are my Hand._ That time is not yet. You are not even two days into your training to become Hand. Right now, I require obedience, _unquestioning_. Do not forget your place, _slave_.”

Her eyes narrowed, just a fraction, but he knew what it meant. Without thinking, he caught her wrists in each hand and slammed them up against the stone of the wall. “Do you forget your first lesson so quickly, slave?” He snarled angrily, crushing her wrists against the stone. A small sound of pain escaped her. “I will forgive you, this once. Now you have seen twice that I am faster and stronger than you can imagine. I hope for your sake that you remember it, this time.”

Raema swallowed hard. His grip on her wrists was colder than the stone that ground into her skin, and seemed as impervious. “I will remember, my lord,” she whispered. Assurjan made a sound deep in his throat, nearly a growl, before turning away and vanishing into the night outside.

Shaking, Raema let her hands drop back to her sides. _Stupid_ , she thought. _Why be so angry because he called me a slave? That is what I am, now. I might as well be angry that someone calls me an elf._ Rubbing at her wrists ruefully, she resolved to control herself. She crouched on the stone floor of the cave to await Assurjan’s return.

* * *

That night, a day of resting and nearly another whole night of travel passed before Raema dared speak to him beyond “yes, my lord” and “no, my lord”. He was content with her silence, and did not speak save to give her simple orders. He felt a slight remorse, that the spirited slave he had found was now so subdued.

But as the sky began to lighten, nearing the end of their third night of travel, she ventured, “My lord? May I ask a question?”

“You may,” he replied over his shoulder, as he led her up the path to the concealed entrance of his stronghold.

“Why did you choose me?”

Assurjan stopped walking and turned to face her. “As I told you, I admire your spirit,” he said seriously, glad to be able to make himself clear. “Understand, Raema, I have no desire to crush that spirit. A Hand must be able to think and act quickly, to be more than just a mindless slave. But I must be able to trust you before I can allow that. And a living woman that I cannot control could bring the ruination of Juraene Clan. I will not sacrifice my people for you, Raema.”

“I understand, my lord,” she replied, looking thoughtful.

Assurjan set his hand to the enchanted place on the stone beside them and pushed, muttering the proper spell; the stone slid silently to one side, revealing the entrance to his clan’s lair. He gave Raema a wry smile, watching the surprise and then trepidation flit across her face. “Welcome to Juraene.”

All the courage Raema could muster was not quite nearly enough to make her step inside; it was fear of Assurjan that truly compelled her over the threshold. He followed her in, shutting the strange portal behind himself, and then led her down the long hall. It reminded her of the ancestral tombs that dotted the island’s landscape: smooth stone without sharp corners, dimly lit. They rounded a turn and came before two other vampires; at the sight of Assurjan, they knelt immediately. “We welcome your return, my lord Assurjan,” the one on the left said. He was an imperial, stocky and dark-haired.

“Rise,” Assurjan commanded. They obeyed, eyeing Raema with interest. The woman on the right was a Wood Elf. Raema shivered, but did not let herself look away. The Ancient continued, “Send word I have returned. I will address the clan in my chamber.” The imperial bowed and departed. Assurjan glanced at Raema, almost as if he had forgotten her. He nodded at the other elf. “Bring her,” he ordered, and strode away.

The vampire stepped up to Raema and held out a hand. “Your sword, Bosmer.”

When Raema hesitated, the woman bared her teeth, nearly hissing. “Your sword, or your life. Which do you value least, Elf?”

Raema glanced over the woman’s shoulder at Assurjan; he had turned to watch the exchange. He merely raised an eyebrow. Resigned, Raema unstrapped the sheath and handed it to the vampire. The other elf snatched it from her with one hand, and roughly seized her arm with the other. Raema tensed, watching Assurjan disappear around a corner ahead; he suddenly seemed to radiate safety. _Better the danger I know than the one I don’t_ , she thought ruefully. Reluctantly she let the Bosmer lead her through the maze of halls.

The two passed other vampires occasionally; they eyed Raema with those milk-white eyes as if she were a hot meal, but did not approach. She saw slaves too, forlorn in their bracers and rags. She guessed they were the cattle that Assurjan had spoken of. They seemed, oddly, the exact opposite of the vampires: they lived and breathed, but there was no life left in their eyes.

Just as Raema realized she was thoroughly lost, the female vampire hauled her through an archway into a large, round, high-ceilinged chamber. Two staircases hugged the wall on the far side of the room, opposite each other, leading to another chamber directly overhead. On a low dais before the stairs was a simple chair of dark wood. Torches flickered in sconces along the entire circular wall, and the chamber was full of vampires. Raema cringed away from them as the vampire elf led her through the crowd to stand just below the dais, on its left side. As they turned to overlook the chamber, Raema saw Assurjan enter. He had removed his black gloves, but still wore his robes; the torchlight gleamed on his bare head and the black topknot in the back. Every other vampire present bowed their heads as he passed, and at a sharp squeeze on her arm from the other elf, Raema followed suit.

Assurjan strode to the dais and stepped up, ignoring the chair as he turned to face the rest of the chamber. “Vampires of Juraene Clan,” he addressed them. “How fared you in my absence?”

“The past few days were uneventful, my lord,” replied a white-haired Breton who stepped forth from the crowd. He and Assurjan spoke at length, discussing matters and events that Raema did not understand. She began to tune them out, instincts futilely taking over once more as she scanned the room for ways to escape. She twitched when Assurjan spoke her name.

“This is Raema,” he said, with a graceful hand gesture towards her. “She is under my protection. Any member of Juraene who touches her will regret it. She is not to be harmed. For now.” He added, with a meaningful glance in her direction. “Silweyn.”

“Yes, my lord,” replied the Bosmer vampire at Raema’s side.

“Raema is under your care. Teach her the ways of Juraene and vampires as you would a newly dead of your own creation. Do not forget that she is to remain alive.”

Silweyn bowed her head in assent, and jogged Raema’s arm until she copied the movement. Assurjan was speaking to the rest of the chamber again as Silweyn escorted her out. The truth of Raema's situation was beginning to sink in now, and it threatened to overwhelm her. She struggled not to think about it, not to think about anything, lest she begin screaming. Feeling numb, Raema followed docilely as the vampire led her away.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Raema soon lost track of the days she spent as a pupil among the vampires of Juraene clan. She was not allowed outdoors; the lack of sunlight made her fair skin grow so pale that at times she imagined she was becoming a vampire herself. There was no true schedule within the clan that she could discern; she knew that it had to be night if a vampire entered or left the lair, but there was no way to mark the hours between. Vampires did not sleep, nor eat at regular intervals. For all Raema knew, she had been there for weeks or months. On bad days, she was sure it had been years.

Her sense of time came to be calibrated by the routine of her new life; after waking, she would spend some time alone, studying whatever texts from Assurjan's library that Silweyn assigned her. These were mostly works on vampiric culture or history, with occasional books of alchemy or other studies added in. The books on vampires themselves were obviously very old, and very rare. More than once, Raema idly wondered how much a scholar might pay for a copy of _The Rise of Isserat Clan,_ or the various translations of _Manifestations of Vampiric Sorcery._

Eventually Silweyn would arrive with a meal, which was usually a portion of whatever had been provided for the cattle-slaves that day. While Raema ate, Silweyn would answer questions, or further explain any reading Raema had done earlier. Then she would escort Raema to the library itself, where she spent the majority of her time. The library was well-supplied, and when she wasn't furthering her studies, Raema would find a book to read for the pleasure of it. As a thief, and then a slave, she had never had much use for books; now, they helped her escape the dreary monotony into which her life had settled. So when her work was done, she would immerse herself in _Poison Song_ or other such tales, and forget that she was indefinitely trapped underground with the undead; until Silweyn returned to bring her back to her room for a second meal, and then to weapons training.

Almost never did Raema go anywhere in the lair without Silweyn. She wasn't sure if it was for her protection from the others, or to keep her ignorant of the lair itself. Despite Assurjan's words about her safety when she had first been introduced to the clan, she had the sense that very little kept the vampires from feeding upon her as if she truly were one of the cattle that the clan kept for just such a purpose. She was glad enough of Silweyn's protective presence when the others eyed her hungrily, but otherwise despised the additional reminder that she was still a prisoner. A privileged one, of course, but only by the grace of Assurjan's authority.

Of Assurjan himself, she saw very little; only a few glances in passing. He never came to seek her out, nor sent word to her. Raema would almost have thought he'd forgotten her, except that she knew Silweyn reported to him often about her progress, and that it was ultimately he who determined the course of her studies. It was at Assurjan's order that she began weapons training after some time with the clan.

Silweyn did not take part in these lessons, simply stating once that her talents lay elsewhere. Raema's training was overseen by an elder Imperial vampire, whom she learned had previously been a Knight Bachelor of the Imperial Legion. His name was Talintus, and though his relentlessly grueling teaching style usually left Raema frustrated and exhausted, she did enjoy his company. He was less aloof than Silweyn, and in fact hardly acted like a vampire at all. When they were not hard at work crossing their blades in a practice match or any of his countless drills, he treated her almost as a favorite uncle might: teasing but kind, joking but not mean-spirited. Assurjan was the only other vampire she had yet met who had a sense of humor, but Talintus had more, perhaps because the responsibility of an entire clan did not rest on him.

During her lessons themselves, though, he was all business, and Raema was grateful for it. As he told her once, _"We have powerful enemies, girl. Not just other vampires, but all the living ones who want us destroyed- which amounts to just about everyone. The Guilds, the Houses, the Legion, the Temple, and even the gods themselves._ _The only reason more of them don't succeed is that very few are powerful enough to kill a vampire. But our enemies are yours now, and that puts you at a disadvantage. So what you lack in power, you must make up for in skill, in speed and in strength, or all the book learning and good intentions won't help you when the Ancient sends you on his errands."_

So each day she spent a few hours training with wooden swords or practicing archery with Talintus, and though she left each session sore and bruised and sometimes a little bloodied, she always looked forward to the next time. Like the tales in the library, the exercise allowed her to focus on something other than her captive studies. The training still served Assurjan's will, of course, but the mere weight of a sword in her hand -even only the wooden practice sword she was allowed- let Raema feel a little more control over her own destiny.

After Talintus finished with her, either he or Silweyn would escort her back to the room that had become hers, and she would collapse onto her pallet of blankets in the corner, her mind so full that it ached as much as her sore muscles, and fall into an exhausted sleep.

Such were her "days" among the Juraene clan: innumerable and alike, except for her outlook. On most days, memories of her former life, when vampires were only superstitious myths to scare children into obedience, seemed as far away as a dream that may or may not have occurred. These were the days that seemed to move faster than others, for Raema could imagine that her life had always been this way, and with that illusion it was easier to follow her routine.

On other days, memories of _life_ , full of sunlight and color and laughter and music, were close enough that she could almost _taste_ them. Then she was reminded more harshly of her new reality, and felt that she had become a vampire in name if not in truth. She was dead, she thought, and would never see the sun again. Then the days seemed to drag on interminably, slowed by her despair like a guar mired in a stand of muck-sponge.

Thankfully, these bad days did not occur as often as the others, and even less often as time passed. Her days ran together in a monotonous chain, and she learned more knowledge of vampires than she had believed existed. She learned how vampires could now use sorcery to drain a man of life to feed themselves, and that they yet still preferred to physically drink the blood of their victims as the very first vampires did. She learned why their eyes glowed with incandescent light when they hungered, and why it was exceedingly rude to ask them about their previous lives. She studied histories until she could recite the lineages of every great clan in her sleep; she did it once, waking herself with the name of Kiriis clan's last Ancient still on her lips. Most of all, she pored over maps of Morrowind and the information that Silweyn provided on the current vampiric events on the island, for they would be of greater use to her than almost everything else.

Thinking later about the uniformity of these days, Raema wasn't surprised that she could remember one certain day with great clarity, when all the previous days were smudged together.

That day started the same as all the others, until it was time for her daily sword work, and Talintus himself came to the library to fetch her. He had never done this before, and it was strange enough that Raema stood up immediately, expecting that something was amiss.

But Talintus only walked over to her, and held out something that she hadn't noticed he carried. It was her sword, the silver short sword that Assurjan had given her on that second night. Raema hadn't seen it since Silweyn had confiscated it.

Talintus said only, "It is the Ancient's wish that this be returned to you. We shall have a different sort of lesson today, and you may need it."

Raema reached out uncertainly and took the blade, almost reverently. She had had possession of it for too short a time, too long ago, to truly remember how it felt in her hands; but as Talintus handed it to her, she knew something was different. Gripping the hilt in one hand and the sheath in the other, she bared a finger's length of the blade, and saw the silver glimmering with an opalescent sheen.

She looked up at Talintus, startled. "It's been enchanted?"

"With a spell to drain your opponent's strength," he explained, and then gave a wry smile. "To balance the odds a bit."

"Thank you," she said, completely unsure how much he had had to do with it. After a moment, she slung the weapon behind her, fastening the sheath's straps so that it hung across her back. "May I ask, what sort of lessons am I having today?"

"You are to see a vampire for what we truly are."

His voice was surprisingly somber. Raema looked up from the buckles of the sword's sheath and laughed a little. "I've lived here for.... for Vivec knows how long, studying vampires, Talintus. I think I have a pretty good notion of-"

"Have you seen a vampire ever use his power in full?" he cut her off, harshly. "Have you _seen_ a vampire hunt, and kill, and feed on the warm blood of his living prey; or have you only read about it in Silweyn's books?"

His eyes were glinting with a luminescence that took Raema a moment to recognize. Feeling a sickening dread growing in the pit of her stomach, she did not reply. She desperately hoped that Talintus would laugh, and tease her gullibility, and then bring her to the practice room for a lesson she was accustomed to.

But he only said, "Come," and turned away. Raema had no choice but to follow him out of the library, and through nearly-unfamiliar corridors of the lair. She hadn't seen them since her arrival, but she recognized them; he was leading her to the exit. In her excitement to see the outdoors again, she momentarily forgot her anxiety. She stood, trying not to tremble with fear, or with excitement, as he opened the door wordlessly.

When he stepped out into the darkness - _of course it's nighttime,_ she realized- she couldn't make herself follow, though she ached to breathe the fresh air again. Talintus turned, and his glowing eyes seemed to float, disembodied, in the night. "Come on, girl," he said gruffly. "I'm not hunting _you_."

Remembering the many hours she had studied with him, and the fact that she had almost counted him as a friend, Raema was able to summon enough trust to obey him. She stepped out of the lair for the first time since her arrival.

The ground felt odd beneath her feet after the stone floors inside. Raema felt the cool night breeze on her face, and realized how stagnant the air in the lair had been; she hadn't noticed when she was confined. Stars glittered in the dark expanse far above, so much more open and vast than the cramped ceilings, and Raema gave in to the urge to stretch, reaching her hands to the sky and reveling in it.

Only when Talintus was walking away did she notice that he had already sealed shut the lair's entrance. "Come on," he ordered over his shoulder. "Follow, and keep silent." With a shiver of misgiving, Raema obeyed.

They walked for miles, it seemed, through the lush and occasionally swampy woods and hills of the Bitter Coast, with only the starlight to guide them. Talintus moved soundlessly, like a shadow, somehow finding places to move through foliage without brushing against it. Raema tried her best to do the same, with little success.

Finally Talintus came to a sudden halt, under a vast tree with branches draped by vines that hung to the ground. Concentrating on moving quietly, Raema nearly walked into his back before realizing he had stopped. He held up a hand, signaling her to be still, and moved forward. She realized the tree stood at the top of a long ridge, and a light glimmered from below. She waited as Talintus peered over the edge of the ridge, then withdrew and returned to her silently.

“Stay here,” he said, and his voice took on a tone that she had read about but not yet heard; it was as if several voices spoke through his mouth at once. It chilled her to the bone, for she knew that, like the cold light glowing in his eyes, it was a sign that he hungered. “Do not interfere.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and vanished into the darkness without a sound.

Raema drew in a shuddering breath. She had a very good idea what was about to happen, and she had no wish to see it. Against her better judgment, she moved carefully to gaze over the ridge.

Below, a small fire burned where a lone man had made camp against the base of the ridge. A Breton, she saw, dressed in common clothing, sitting cross-legged on his bedroll and finishing an evening meal. A dagger rested, ready, on the blankets at his side.

Raema caught her breath as Talintus appeared on the edge of the firelight, opposite from the traveler. Startled, the Breton dropped his food and jumped to his feet, dagger in hand, but paused.

“Greetings, stranger,” he said, warily. The shadows hid Talintus’ eyes, Raema realized. The traveler couldn’t see what sort of man was approaching him. “I have little enough food, but you are welcome to share it, if you-“

With his face contorted in a snarl, revealing fangs that glistened in the firelight, Talintus lunged at the man. The Breton shouted, bringing up his dagger; the vampire knocked his arm away with a vicious strike, and the blade dropped from the man’s nerveless fingers. He landed a punch with his other hand before Talintus dragged him to the ground and sank his fangs deep into the man’s throat.

Over the man’s screams, Raema heard someone give a horrified shriek, and realized belatedly that it had been herself. She clapped her hands over her mouth to hold in another, and watched in shock as her kindly tutor fed on the blood of an innocent traveler. Small scarlet rivulets ran down his neck, but she could see Talintus swallowing, and she saw that he took in more blood than was spilled. She watched as the man’s struggles grew more feeble, his skin blanching. It sickened her, but she could not look away, remembering Talintus’ words. _See a vampire for what we truly are…_

After a time, the Breton sagged limply to the ground, eyes unseeing; only then did Talintus raise his head and release the man- the corpse, now. Raema watched her tutor wipe blood from his face with his thumb, then almost delicately lick it clean, as if afraid to lose a drop. He looked up at the ridge, his face unreadable, to meet her gaze.

Raema was shivering uncontrollably. All this time, she had learned from this man, had come to trust him, even _like_ him. She had grown comfortable with him, with her new life among the vampires, thinking she understood them by virtue of her long hours of solitary study; but she had never truly understood, until now.

Raema stepped back from the ridge and crouched to wait, shaking, for Talintus to return. She desperately fought back the urge to vomit.

After a time, he reemerged from the shadows, barely visible in the darkness; the starlight did not penetrate the tree’s leaves. _He must have doused the Breton’s fire_ , Raema noted numbly. He gave no sign that anything had occurred, save that the glow of bloodlust in his eyes had dimmed.

He held out a hand, as if to help her to her feet. Raema eyed it, and could not make herself take it. She looked away and stood unaided.

Talintus dropped his hand, and looked as if he would speak, but changed his mind. With a gesture, he bid her follow him, and she obeyed, feeling that once again her life had been turned completely upside-down.

* * *

After that “lesson”, her life nearly returned to normal in the lair. Talintus had escorted her to her room upon their return. He left her there with a look of almost-pity, but without a word; Raema doubted that there was anything he could say that would not make things worse. Her studies with Silweyn resumed, and though Raema now saw her differently as well, the vampire didn’t seem to notice.

She did not see Talintus again, except in passing; it seemed there was little else he had to teach her. No one had told her to return her sword, so she kept it, wearing it every waking moment and laying it bared within her reach when she slept. Silweyn did not comment, except to say that Raema did not need an escort within the lair any longer. She was not free to leave, of course, but it was still more freedom than she had before. She put it to good use, exploring the lair until she knew most of it as well as her own room. The vampires ignored her, to her relief; but she was a little disappointed that the other slaves seemed similarly uninterested in her.

So her days settled into a new routine, wherein she spent time alone in the practice ring, practicing the myriad forms and drills that Talintus had taught her. She enjoyed the solitary exercise, for no one else ever joined her, or disturbed her.

Until the day that Assurjan came to see her.

She was nearing the end of her exercise, moving through the forms as Talintus had taught her, with fluid grace, underscored with strength like a steel sword itself, powerful yet well-balanced. She was using a different sword, a plain but well-made iron shortsword. It was heavier than her own, causing new strain on her muscles. Her clothing clung to her sweaty skin, as did dust from the sand floor of the ring. She sensed a presence and guessed immediately that it was him, confirming it with glances from the corner of her eye as she moved. She didn't let it interrupt her concentration, however, and felt a spark of pride at it. Since he didn't speak, she continued, feeling his unwavering gaze on her until she finished, kneeling on one knee with the swordpoint driven into the sand beside her.

Her back was to him where he leaned in the doorway; when he still didn't speak, Raema did. "Do you require my service, my lord?" she asked without turning.

"Not at this moment," he said calmly. She heard him move, feet scuffing softly in the sand as he trod the perimeter of the room. As he came into her line of sight, she tracked him with her eyes, again seeing that deadly confidence in his movements that only a fool would try to cross. He stopped at the weapons rack on the wall directly before her.

"I see your skill has quite improved," he remarked, perusing the blades that hung before him.

"Talintus....was a hard teacher, my lord," she said.

Assurjan gripped the hilts of a few swords in turn, testing. "Was he?" he asked.

Something in his voice, a hint of menace, made her re-think that evaluation. "Perhaps...not as hard as others might be, my lord," she amended.

Assurjan selected a sword, pulling it free of the rack and turning to look at her for the first time. "Indeed," he said, with a trace of a smile. Raema watched warily as he approached her, but did not move, although her body was beginning to stiffen. She kept a light grip on her sword, which still stood point-down in the sand. "My lord, you carry sharp steel," she noted, a little nervously. For all the practice she'd had with Talintus, they had only ever used wooden swords.

He halted in front of her. "As do you," he said. "I have a mind to evaluate your progress myself."

_A test,_ she realized suddenly. But what was he testing? Her skills, as he'd said, or her obedience? She remembered a warning, from before she'd even known his name. _There will be no attempts to harm me. If your behavior becomes too great a nuisance, I will kill you..._

He seemed to read her mind. "I am not trying to bait you, Raema. This is not a ploy to force you into disloyalty, or whatever else you suspect of me. I simply must know what you are capable of before I can decide on the next step to take with you."

Still, Raema hesitated. "My lord, I don't-"

He swung. Startled, Raema fell backwards awkwardly, under the arc of his blade, landing on her back in the sand, pulling her sword with her. She rolled in the sand, coming to her feet with her sword at the ready.

"You do not what?" Assurjan asked, in that dangerous voice she remembered from their first meeting. "Wish to fight the vampire that has imprisoned you, enslaved you?" He advanced, sword at the ready, and Raema shifted cautiously. "Do not lie to me, Raema; I know your heart. Each morning that you have awakened here, still bound to us, to _me_ , there has been at least a little part of you that wants nothing more than to see me dead. Is it not so?" He gave her no chance to reply, but attacked again, a flurry of blows that Raema blocked ably as she retreated from him. She made no counterattack, but managed to catch his sword on her own with his last strike, holding him at bay. Frozen, they stared at each other in the flickering light of the wall torches.

"My lord-"

Assurjan leaned in slightly, his white eyes intent on her own dark ones. "I am everything you were raised to hate, and yet you are bound to me; you belong to me, Raema," he said quietly. "I know what you want. Fight me, _slave_."

At his words, Raema felt her old, angry frustration boil up inside of her. She licked her lips, found sand, and spit it out, never looking away from the vampire. "Now you _are_ trying to bait me," she said softly. "My lord."

He simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _Well?_

Assurjan wanted a fight; Raema gave him one. Afterward, she couldn't have told how long it lasted; she lost herself in it, loosing all the pent-up fury that had been brewing in her, almost unnoticed, for so long. Assurjan moved with a polished precision that made it seem as if he was born with a sword in his hand; wasting no movements, expending no more force than necessary. A small, distant part of Raema noted, as if it watched and did not participate, that she nearly matched his grace, and it would have surprised her if she was not so focused on the fight itself.

Back and forth they moved, kicking up sand, their blades ringing against each other. They seemed evenly matched; she defended or evaded each attack, as did he. Raema knew that he was faster and stronger than he was letting on; but she noted with satisfaction that a sheen of sweat glistened on his bare head, and if he didn't lose his breath, at least he seemed to tire after a time.

Unfortunately, Raema tired more, and sooner than he did. He disarmed her with a simple tactic that shouldn't have worked, rapping the back of her hand with the flat of his blade, and her weapon dropped to the sand. Immediately she kicked at his hand, hoping to turn the same ploy against him, but he caught her leg and swept her other foot out from under her. She fell hard on her back in the sand, and he followed faster than she could move, pinning her down with the edge of his blade against her throat. Breathing hard, she gritted her teeth and glared up at him.

"Had enough?" He asked. Furious, Raema spat at him. He chuckled, and leaned further against her, applying enough pressure on the blade to make her afraid to swallow. He had her right hand pinned at the wrist, grinding it into the sand; the elbow of his sword-arm leaned hard into the muscles of her upper left arm; she could feel her left hand tingling as its supply of blood slowly dwindled.

"That will not do," he said softly, ignoring her saliva as it slid down his cheek. "But I must say that you did better than I expected. And I hear that you handled yourself fairly well when Talintus took you hunting, as well."

The sudden change of subject took her off guard. Talintus had told him she did _well?_ "I...am glad he thought so, my lord," she said, bemused.

A smirk pulled at Assurjan's lips, as if he knew what she was thinking. Abruptly the blade at her throat was gone, and he with it, returning it to the weapons rack. Raema stood stiffly, rubbing at her neck, and picked up her weapon. She shivered a little as the adrenaline of the fight faded, and the sweat that drenched her began to cool. The sand on her skin itched fiercely.

Assurjan turned back to face her, more serious now. "So you have seen a vampire hunt and feed," he said. "Not at all pleasant, is it?"

Raema shook her head mutely. She could still see the image of the unnamed man flailing, bloodied, as Talintus drank of his life. It would not be anything she could forget, she was sure.

"Understand, Raema," the Ancient continued. "What you saw that night, what Talintus did, is nothing that we have not all done. That is what we _are_. We play at being a society, with all the trappings that includes: histories and customs, titles and privileges to go with them. But in truth, we are all little more than beasts, with their hungers and their instincts...and their lack of need for ethics. What you saw Talintus do.... _that_ is what it means to be a vampire. _T_ _hat_ is what you will be serving, if you so choose."

He paused, fixing his intent white gaze on her. "I will give you the choice once more, now that you have more understanding. You have seen the power that we hold. Will you be used by it? Or serve it, and wield it, as no non-vampire has in living memory?"

Again, Raema thought back to the first day they had spent in the cave after he took her from Suran. "I have more understanding, but not much more of a choice," she said, surprised that she didn't truly feel as bitter as she expected. "I have given you my answer, my lord."

Assurjan smiled slightly. "Good. In that case, I have a... quest for you, and if you prove yourself, I shall name you my Hand when you return."

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

The sun shone high and bright in the sky, making her squint. After months underground, the feel of late morning sunlight warming her skin was almost magical. Raema took a deep breath as she pulled the door of the lair shut behind her, unescorted for the first time. The air was fresh, with a soft breeze, and it seemed a wonder to be surrounded by the wilderness; there was so much _life!_ With a smile on her face, she set off down the hill from the lair's entrance, checking that her sword still hung securely at her back.

She had left immediately after Assurjan had finished instructing her, unable to hide her eagerness to leave the lair. Since her own power of invisibility would not last long enough to conceal her on the return trip, he had given her an enchanted ring to use as well, to keep anyone from trailing her back to the clan. The alliance he had built between Juraene and the Thieves' Guild was still new, and many members of the Guild were unhappy with it, despite the aid the vampires had lent. The link between the two factions was fragile enough that one or two objecting Guild members could potentially interfere.

Raema's task was simply to locate the Juraene contact in the Guild, a woman named Sottilde, and collect a payment for the assassination of several key members of the Camonna Tong, a hated enemy of the thieves. Raema idly wondered which vampires had performed the assassinations, and then decided she would rather not know.

The road appeared before her as she stepped through a group of trees, and she turned south, knowing Balmora's general direction. She would need to consult her map at the next crossroads, but for now she was content to follow wherever the road led her.

* * *

Her journey progressed without incident, and the rooftops of Balmora appeared ahead a short time after noon. As she entered the town, she stopped and stared around her in recognition. She had been in Balmora before, though she hadn't known its name at the time. When she and other slaves had been moved from the fishing village on the coast to the slave market in Suran, they had passed through Balmora; the trader Dranas Sarathram had hoped to sell a few of them here. Her eyes narrowed, remembering her days in his possession.

And now, here she was again, still a slave. She was allowed more freedom now, but she was still a slave nonetheless. She glanced back the way she had come, rubbing her thumb over the invisibility ring. There were at least seven hours until sunset, time enough to put many miles between her and the lair, even on foot. Maybe enough to reach the port at Ebonheart, and she could trade the ring for passage off the island-

"Move along," a Dunmer voice rasped, jolting her from her thoughts. A bonemold-armored guard eyed her suspiciously. "In or out, Bosmer. Don't block the gates."

"My apologies, ser," she said respectfully, and continued into the town, pushing away thoughts of escape. This was still a test, after all. For all she knew, Assurjan could have vampires scattered across the island, waiting to catch her after dark if she didn't return. And if her performace of this task could win his trust, there might be a better chance for escape in the future...

Raema glanced at the length of the shadows, and gauged that she was still early for her meeting with Sottilde. The Guild was very particular about the circumstances of their meetings with the vampires, Assurjan had informed her; they wisely did not want the relationship to become common knowledge.

_Good_ , Raema thought. _Gives me time to eat_. The smells of the midday meal being served at the town's various clubs wafted through the streets, making her stomach growl. Unfortunately, Assurjan had not given her any coin; she would have to settle for the meager food she had brought with her. She found a crate to sit on, next to a building out of the way of foot traffic, and pulled out the bread and crabmeat she'd packed. She was hungry enough that even that humble meal seemed a treat, though there wasn't quite as much of it as she would have liked.

When she had finished, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, reveling in the sunshine that warmed her face.

"You look like you haven't seen the sun for months," a genial voice said.

"I haven't," Raema said reflexively as she opened her eyes, and then realized what she‘d said. Thinking quickly, she added, "I...I work in the mines. At Caldera."

The man who’d spoken, a Redguard with a headful of unruly brown curls, raised his eyebrows in surprise. "And they let you out to come here? I thought all the miners over there were slaves."

"I never said I was a miner," she pointed out with a grin, happy to be interacting with a person who was not, for once, a vampire. "I'm a...guard, in the mine. Been on the daylight shift for 3 months, but I finally got some leave and decided to come down here and visit my cousin." Hoping to change the subject before she had to invent more background for herself, she added, "And what do you do, ser?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," he said, with a charming smile. "Jole Devan, at your service. Perhaps I can show you around Balmora? The lunches at Eight Plates are especially good..."

"You're very kind," Raema said, returning his smile as she stood and gathered her things. "But I've just eaten, and I'm afraid I must meet my cousin before the day grows much later. I must be back at Caldera by tonight. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Jole Devan."

"The pleasure was mine, sera...?" he said, waiting. Raema merely nodded politely. "Good day," she bid him, and walked away, knowing better than to give out her name.

A glance over her shoulder showed that he had continued on his way, in the opposite direction. Satisfied, she crossed the bridge to the east side of town, and found her destination easily enough; the South Wall Cornerclub was one of the first buildings she passed. Guessing at the time once more, she realized it was still a bit early. _Well, the Thieves will just have to cope,_ she thought, and pushed the door open.

It seemed extremely dim in the club; she stood blinking for a moment, hoping her eyes would adjust to the darkness quickly. When her vision lightened, she saw a redheaded woman standing before her, next to a table in the corner of the hall.

"Sottilde?" she asked. The woman looked up quizzically. "Aye. In need of some supplies, are you?"

"Not exactly. I believe you are holding some gold in trust for me?"

Understanding dawned on the Nord's face. With a quick glance down the hall, she grasped Raema's arm and bustled her back the way she'd come; around the corner and out of sight from the rest of the club. "You're early," she hissed.

"No one knows who I am, anyway," Raema pointed out. Sottilde eyed her up and down and admitted frankly, "Aye. You're not what I expected."

"No doubt," Raema said wryly. "You have the money?"

Sottilde's hands flickered, and a small pouch appeared in one hand, with a clink. Raema had forgotten how skilled most of the Guild was at sleight-of-hand. Sottilde handed her the pouch. "Tell...your master...that there may be another service he can provide for us, in the future. We will pay well, again; he need only contact us to see if we are ready."

Raema hefted the weighty pouch in her hand, then tucked it into her pack. "I will tell him," she said, and left the club.

_That was easy enough_ , she thought to herself as she left Balmora behind her. The sun still stood high in the sky; it was yet early in the afternoon, and she would return to the lair by nightfall. The idea of escape, especially now that she had a purse of gold, pulled at her thoughts again; she ignored it resolutely. With a quick backward glance to confirm that she was out of sight from the town, she activated the invisibility spell. When the dizzying sensation of watching herself fade to transparency had passed, she continued on her way.

* * *

Jole cursed softly when the elf disappeared. _So much for trailing her_. He turned to walk back into town, mulling over this new mystery. He'd just been friendly when he spoke to her, and hadn't really meant anything by his remark about the sun, though it was true. She was paler than any other Bosmer he'd ever met, and she'd been sitting there soaking up the sunlight as if it were water and she was dying of thirst. Her answer had intrigued him, though; she'd answered innocently enough, and he'd believed her at first. But after that, she'd hesitated too long, and then gave him more information than he'd asked for. She was no guard in any mine, of that much he was certain.

_And if that thieving Nord Sottilde is really her cousin, I'll eat a silt strider_ , he thought. Briefly, he considered questioning Sottilde, then decided against it. There was no way to do it and keep the thief quiet. As long as she didn't know they'd been seen, there was a chance that the elf would return to repeat their secretive business...whatever it had been. _And I'll be waiting...._

* * *

Eloe hesitated at the door, gathering her thoughts- and her pride. She could wish that the Ancient did not have to see her like this; but she bore important news, and he would not be pleased if she waited to make herself presentable before bringing it to his attention. She worked her sore jaw open and closed, rubbed her fingertips futilely at the dirt and dried blood that smeared her face, then gave up and entered the observatory, dropping to one knee. "My lord?"

Standing at his worktable in the corner, Raxle Berne did not look up. "What is it?" he asked, in a tone that said he wanted no interruptions.

"I have news, my lord," she said, and he turned, eyes widening as he took in her appearance. "Eloe, what in Oblivion happened to you?"

"I was...approached... by several Quarra vampires- including the Ancient herself- while I hunted. I sought to defend myself, naturally; but I was too greatly outnumbered and they subdued me. I expected death, but Quarra only wanted me to relay a message from her...regarding Assurjan, my lord."

Raxle looked at her sharply. "Well?"

"She has been trying to keep track of his activities for some time, my lord. She has learned that he indeed has formally created a new clan. She does not yet know the location of his lair, but his people are growing rapidly in numbers and strength. And..." She hesitated; this bit of news was bizarre enough to give her pause. "...he is training a Hand."

Raxle raised an eyebrow. "Truly?" he asked, bemused. "How...unconventional." He turned and paced the length of the room. "What are you trying to do, Assurjan?" he muttered to himself, then glanced at Eloe again. "Why is she telling me this?"

"She said that you would realize the unbalance that a fourth clan would cause on the island. She has sent the same message to Aundae clan, and hopes that we can form an alliance of sorts, against...Juraene clan."

The Berne Ancient snorted derisively at the name. "An intriguing proposal," he admitted. "I can see the advantages. I can also see the advantages for Quarra over us, if we are not careful."

"There is more, my lord. Quarra said- as a matter of honor, for the way I was treated- that any reply we send in the same manner would not offend her or her clan. She encouraged it, even, as a way to be sure all three clans enter any potential alliance with no harbored grudges." She could not keep the hopeful tone from her voice, and she knew he heard it.

Raxle let out an amused huff of laughter. "Volrina Quarra's sense of honor and sense of humor were always coupled together. I suppose you want to take her up on the offer?"

"It would be impolite to refuse, my lord," Eloe said with a tight smile.

* * *

With a last deep breath of the cool evening air, Raema stepped back into Juraene's lair and removed the ring. After a day spent in the island's wilderness, the lair seemed deathly still. As she walked the halls, she realized it wasn't just her imagination; no one was about. Growing concerned, she gripped her swordhilt warily and made her way through the dim halls. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Silweyn.

"Bloody-! I nearly took your head off!" Raema exclaimed, releasing her sword and willing her heart to slow to a normal rate. "Where is everyone?"

"Waiting for you," Silweyn said shortly. "Come, I'll escort you." Without further explanation, she turned down the hallway, and Raema followed a few steps behind, wondering.

A sense of eerie familiarity washed over her as they entered the audience chamber where Assurjan sat in his chair on the dais, torchlight gleaming on his bare head. The other vampires, and even the cattle, stood waiting before him; they cleared a path to the dais as she and Silweyn entered. Raema had not been in this room since her first arrival to the clan. An unnerving feeling washed over her, that the last months had not truly passed, and she was only now being introduced to the Juraene vampires.

She blinked, and realized, disconcerted, that the room was silent, waiting for her to speak. She dropped to her knees before Assurjan and bowed her head.

"My lord Ancient," she addressed him formally. "I was able to collect the payment you required."

"And no one saw you return here?"

"No, my lord. I used the invisibility spell as soon as I left the town, as you ordered. I did not remove it until I was inside the lair." When he didn't reply, she pulled out the pouch of coins. "Sottilde bid me tell you, the Guild may be able to offer another...transaction, if you hold the same interest."

Assurjan made a noncommittal sound and gestured with a flick of his hand; a lanky Nord vampire stepped forward to take the coins and place them on a table that stood beside the Ancient's chair. When he had returned to his place, Assurjan stood, his eyes boring into her.

"Do you remember the oath you were taught?" he asked solemnly.

Raema nodded slowly and took in a deep breath, thinking back to the words Silweyn had made her memorize. "I pledge myself to the service and protection of Juraene clan and its Ancient, for as long as he deems necessary. I will be the daylight agent of the clan, to perform duties in the clan's best interest, to the best of my abilities. I pledge my assistance to Juraene, my obedience to the Ancient, and my life to the defense of the clan, until such time as I am released."

Assurjan gave her a nod of approval, so quickly that she almost didn't catch it. "And I, Ancient of Juraene clan, in turn pledge my protection to you. So long as you serve the clan, you will always have shelter and amenities here, as much as any vampire. You will have the authority to act on my behalf where I cannot be present, and no vampire of Juraene clan will mistreat you." His own oath also was as she remembered reading it; they spoke the same vows that had bound Hands to Ancients since the earliest days of vampires. Any group of living men and women would have applauded; the gathered vampires simply stood motionlessly, expressionlessly, and the cattle glared sullenly. The silence felt incredibly awkward.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, to break the stillness.

"So long your oath holds, so does my own," he said, and she heard the reminder in his voice. Then the corner of his mouth twitched into an almost-smile. "Rise, Hand of the Ancient. We have work to do."

 


	5. Chapter 5

Months passed quickly, almost unnoticed, for Raema was so busy she had little chance to watch the passage of time. Her duties as the Hand encompassed many roles, including everything from bodyguard to messenger, from spy to runner-of-errands. Mostly, her tasks outside the lair involved building up the ties between Juraene clan and the Thieves' Guild, and cautiously feeling out the possibility of an alliance with House Hlaalu. The idea had surprised her; though she was more surprised that Assurjan had thought of such an alliance than she was at Hlaalu for agreeing to it.

Most of her time in the lair was spent attending Assurjan as a bodyguard, of sorts. He had no real need of one, of course, but he liked to keep her close to send off on tasks when necessary; she often found herself fetching this book or that from his library, or summoning a member of the clan for him to speak to. When she had time, she would continue her training, usually alone, but occasionally Talintus would join her again, and she gradually found herself less and less bothered by the memories of his brutal hunt.

So her life fell into a new routine, and to her surprise, she found that she liked it. With a few exceptions, the other members of Juraene clan accepted her, and some were even friendly, or at least as friendly as vampires could be. She even came to enjoy Assurjan's company, now that he no longer spoke only to be menacing. Her excursions out of the lair, on "business" for the Ancient, provided a sense of excitement and adrenaline that was better than anything she had experienced as a common thief, and she realized as time passed that she was enjoying her new role.

But on this particular night, as she resolutely trudged through the rain toward the lair, she was not looking forward to the homecoming. This was the first time she had failed in performing a task Assurjan had set her to, and she had no idea how he was going to take it. The situation had changed, and she had had to improvise; she desperately hoped that her choices had been the correct ones...

_Something seemed...wrong...as she made her way through the quarters of the Fighters' Guild in Vivec. No one had greeted her when she'd entered, and every room she passed was empty. An ominous silence seemed to have settled over the Guild's housing._

_On edge, she jumped when a door opened as she approached, and a familiar-looking Dunmer emerged. He pushed past her rudely, not acknowledging her, and she stared after him, wondering where she'd seen him before. When he was out of sight, she turned back to the door and entered._

_The man she was looking for, Sjoring Hard-Heart, the Fighters' Guildmaster, was in the room, in discussion with another Dunmer. They glanced up as she entered, breaking off their conversation._

_"I beg your pardon, Master Hard-Heart," she apologized. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I can wait-"_

_"I was just leaving," the Dunmer cut her off, with a glance at Sjoring. He brushed past her, out of the room, and she started when she saw his face, realizing why he and the other Dark Elf looked so familiar. Sottilde had shown her a sketch of the Ienith brothers some time ago; the Guild was warning all their members and contacts about the two Camonna Tong assassins as the conflict between the two groups kept escalating. And they were here, talking to the head of the Fighters' Guild..._

_"Can I help you?" Sjoring asked impatiently, as the door shut behind Ienith. She stared at him. "You're with the Camonna Tong!" she blurted out. His face darkened._

_"My apologies, child," he said, drawing his warhammer. "If you can guess that, I can't let you leave here alive." He swung at her left-handed, faster than she had expected, and the hammer whistled through the air where she had stood; she felt its wind on her cheek as she sidestepped and drove her knee into his midsection. Sjoring grunted, swinging the hammer in a backhanded arc that passed just inches from her nose as she stepped back. The head of the warhammer smashed into a bottle of flin on the nearby table, spattering liquor and shards of glass. Distracted, she glanced at the bottle as it shattered, and looked back to see Sjoring's right fist swinging. Pain and stars exploded in her head as the blow connected. She stumbled backward, struggling to keep her footing, struggling to see her opponent. She reached for her sword as her vision cleared, but he was too fast, charging at her again. Raema ducked under the weapon, heard it smash into the door behind her with sound of splintering wood. He kicked at her; she knocked his foot aside and drew her dagger, hacking at his legs. Her second blow found the target she'd wanted, the tendon behind the ankle, and he dropped to one knee with a yell._

_Raema clambered to her feet, dancing back as Sjoring drove the hammer into the ground where she'd been standing. When he swung at her again, enraged, she realized there was no way she could get close enough to finish him; even with only one good leg, he was too fast for her. Before he could pull himself upright, she ran, thankful now that no other Guild members were about._

She had managed to escape Vivec without incident, and was certain no one was following her. Now she neared the lair with a swollen lip, a sore cheek, and Assurjan's message to Sjoring still undelivered in her pocket. Even the promise of getting out of the rain and the dark was not enough to make her eager to return. Assurjan _might_ approve of the way she'd handled things, but with a Camonna Tong operative left alive, and infuriated at her, she doubted it.

Inside the lair, the familiar dim stillness enveloped her as she moved through the halls. The vampires she passed inclined their heads respectfully; she returned the greeting with a slight nod. She still was not used to the authority she held over them now. She was second only to the Ancient himself, with the authority to command any one of them if necessary, and at times it struck her as a surreal arrangement. The true absurdity of her situation caught up with her sometimes, like when a slave brought her a meal and served it while kneeling.

Eventually the halls gave way to the entrance of Assurjan's audience chamber. He was there, as she'd guessed, but not alone. Four other vampires stood with him, in some conference of the higher-ranked members of Juraene. They fell silent as she knelt in the entranceway, and Assurjan gestured her in. "Welcome, Raema," he greeted her. "Here to report the success of the delivery?"

Raema hesitated. "Not exactly, my lord," she said reluctantly, and saw his gaze focus more sharply on her. "There were...complications."

The attending vampires shifted slightly, perhaps surprised. Assurjan stood motionless. "Explain."

Raema took a deep breath. "Sjoring Hard-Heart is a member of the Camonna Tong; he confirmed it by attacking me when he realized I knew. Your missive was not delivered, my lord."

The Ancient frowned slightly. "I am well aware of Hard-Heart's alliances, " he said, shocking her. "His death is regrettable, but with him dead, it matters little."

With a sinking feeling of dread in her stomach, Raema realized that her error must have been much worse than she had thought. "He is....not dead, my lord." The other vampires glanced at each other; Assurjan only regarded her silently for a moment. "We will continue this discussion later," he said at last. Raema tensed, ready to rise after he dismissed her, but he turned back to the clan members without another word to her.

 _Very well,_ she thought resignedly, and relaxed a little, trying to ignore the discomfort in her knees. Not the preferred way to rest after returning from a long excursion, but she would welcome any chance to simply sit still.

By the time Assurjan's meeting with the others was finished, however, she was thoroughly ready to get up and stretch her legs. She waited as the vampires filed past her and out into the hallway; waited for the Ancient to order her to rise. She could do that much right, at least. The minutes seemed to drag agonizingly long before he finally spoke, without looking at her, as he walked toward the dais before the stairs.

"Raema. Go upstairs to my chamber and wait for me there."

Raema paused stiffly, half-risen from her knees, and blinked in surprise. She had attended Assurjan in the Ancient's suite above the audience chamber before, of course, but no one was allowed into his private room alone. "My lord...?"

Assurjan turned to look at her calmly. “Do not question me, Raema,” he said evenly, but with something in his eyes that chilled her. “Not tonight.”

She rose to her feet and obeyed. Her feet felt heavy as she climbed the stairs, and she tried to suppress the knot of fear that had settled in her middle, sending shivers up her spine. He had spoken so calmly.... But in his eyes, for the first time since he had taken her from the slave market, she had seen true anger, and she had no idea what to expect.

As any good Hand would, though, she obeyed her Ancient and went to await her fate.

* * *

In the periphery of his vision, Assurjan watched her go. She climbed the stairs with a subdued air. That was good, at least; she knew he was displeased. He picked up the book that lay on the edge of the dais, flipping through its pages absently as he thought, wondering how to handle this situation. Raema's training thus far had been mostly improvisation on his part; he knew what he wanted in his Hand, but not how to get it. The few books on the subject in his possession were mostly concerned with the customs and duties of an established Hand. No texts advised on the training of a new Hand, and no Ancient had utilized a Hand in living memory; not even the extremely long-lived memories of vampires.

Well, he had spent the last months guessing. There was no reason this should be any different. He waited until his anger settled, a dozing beast rather than a raging one, and then ascended the stairs.

In his chamber, Raema stood at the foot of his bed, as proud as ever, back straight and hands clasped behind her. He guessed that her choice of location was more due to its distance from the stairs than anything else; but since she didn't look up at him, he allowed himself a small smile. Assurjan briefly entertained thoughts that made his blood heat--vampires, unable to sleep, really only needed a bed for one thing-- but he pushed them away as he crossed the room.

“Raema.”

Her dark eyes lifted to meet his own. He stepped closer, close enough that he could feel her body heat. A startling wave of desire threatened to engulf him, but he beat it back, keeping his eyes on hers. "You disobeyed me."

She looked away uncomfortably and did not reply. Assurjan waited until she brought her gaze back to him. "You know I cannot have a Hand that I cannot trust to do my will," he continued. He turned away to pace the length of the room, thinking.

“Do _you_ trust _me,_ Raema?” he asked softly.

Surprised, she blinked. “Yes, my lord.”

“Do you,” he mused. “You trust me so much that you disobeyed my orders, thinking you knew best. You trust me so much that it never occurred to you that I might know more of the situation than you. As it stands, I think very little of your trust in me, _slave._ ”

She flinched at the word, eyes sparking furiously, but she said nothing. Assurjan approached her again, leaned forward until they were nearly touching. He meant to keep his voice neutral, but anger slipped out as he spoke. “Trust me on _this_ , slave: This is the _only_ time I will allow my Hand the privilege of another chance. If you betray me once more, I will kill you.”

"I understand," she said, and he could hear the anger under her words. "May I ask a question, my lord?" she added, and did not wait for his nod before asking, "Why didn't you tell me Sjoring Hard-Heart was with the Camonna Tong?"

Assurjan hesitated, wondering how much to reveal to her. "The message contains information on the Thieves' Guild. Enough to disadvantage the Guild, to the point where they become more dependent on aid from outside sources."

"You mean us," she guessed.

He nodded. "Given your past, I was not willing to test your loyalty between the Guild and myself, not yet."

"Believe it or not, my lord, my loyalty is to you alone," she said, a hint of irony in her voice. "And I _did_ trust you. You told me that you wanted a Hand who could think and act independently when necessary, and I trusted that you would not have set me to a task without giving me _all_ the information I needed to do so. It's interesting that _you_ did not trust _me_ enough to do that."

Before she even finished speaking, Assurjan realized that she was right, of course. If he _had_ told her, explained the mission in more detail, this would not have happened. He held back a sigh. "That is correct," he said. Raema looked surprised that he admitted it.

"Which is why I will... _pardon_ you," he continued. "It makes little sense to punish you for my mistake." He saw relief flicker across her face, but it was quickly followed by thoughtfulness.

"My lord," she said slowly. "That....might not be the best course of action. By now, the whole clan will know that I disobeyed you. It will set a bad example if they believe I got away with it."

He had tried not to think about that, but she was right again. The rules of Juraene clan were strict, and if the vampires perceived that she went unpunished for crossing his wishes, only resentment and loss of respect would come out of it. And his clan was still relatively new; telling the truth of his error would be a blow to his authority from which he might not recover. An Ancient was supposed to be above reproach, and revealing the truth of his mistake would be a sign of weakness. At best, the clan would lose some of the confidence in him that he had fought so hard to earn. At worst, it could eventually lead to the clan turning against him.

"You are correct, again," he said. "You understand that you have voluntarily chosen punishment? And that it will be done thoroughly- no concessions for your position as my Hand?"

She nodded gravely. Assurjan turned away, and tried to ignore the fact that _he_ had erred. “What is the punishment for disobedience among the Juraene vampires, Raema?” he asked over his shoulder, almost nonchalantly.

“Ten lashes, my lord,” she answered softly.

Assurjan inspected his fingernails disinterestedly. “Do you believe that is a fitting punishment for the Hand? The Hand, after all, is considered to be nearly an extension of the Ancient himself.”

 _No concessions,_ he had said, and she remembered it. “As the Hand of the Ancient is in a position of authority and should be held to a higher degree of accountability, the punishment should be doubled to twenty lashes, my lord.”

The Ancient looked at her sharply. "A brave answer. Are you certain there is no pride in it?"

Raema paused, and in her hesitation he read his answer. "You seek to make me feel guilty, Raema? Something to hold against me in the future, that I punished you excessively for a mistake of my own?"

She didn't meet his gaze, and he reached out to lift her chin until he could see her dark eyes. "Ten lashes," he said flatly. "No more and no less than any other member of Juraene would receive. Speak with Ulrann; he will administer your punishment. And I suggest you lose some of that pride. It would be easy enough to humble you," he added, flashing his fangs to make sure she got the message.

The Wood Elf bowed her head once, and left the chamber. Assurjan watched her go, and hoped he had chosen correctly.

* * *

Radd Hard-Heart gave a resigned sigh, shuffling another stack of papers across his desk. When the position of Fort Moonmoth's Master-at-Arms had first been offered to him, he'd jumped at the chance. After all, there were only four Imperial garrisons on the island, and the chance to head one was not something any sane soldier would refuse....but no one had warned him that his job would leave him buried in paperwork. How long had it been since he'd been in a real fight? He couldn't even remember. And lately, the townspeople in Balmora had been unhappy with the garrison; his men were restless, stirring up trouble in the nearby town, and the citizens were less than pleased. Some had gone so far as to refuse to serve the soldiers in the taverns, which only demoralized his men more....

It was a very large mess, and not one he felt ready to handle. Disgusted, he shoved the pile of papers away, trying to think- but one item caught his eye, a rolled parchment tied with a blood-red cord. He plucked it from the pile and unrolled it, wondering.

_To Knight Protector Radd Hard-Heart, Master-at-Arms of Fort Moonmoth:_

_You may have some knowledge of me, or at least of my kind. Certainly we know of you; enough of our number have fallen to your comrades for me to consider us enemies. But I am writing to strike a bargain with you: we are prepared to sacrifice one of our own, in exchange for a measure of protection._

_We know that you are bound by your loyalties to the Legion, sworn to destroy many of us; we are, after all, anathema to your beliefs. We ask that you refrain from doing so; in return, we can provide for you a prize that no other Legionnaire has ever claimed: a clan Ancient._

_A second correspondence shall follow, containing the specific location and time of the Ancient's seizure. He will be captured regardless of your presence; I leave it to your discretion whether to take advantage of my offer._

_Raxle Berne, Ancient of Berne Clan_

Radd leaned back in his chair and scratched at his beard, deep in thought. _A very intriguing proposal_. The word _vampire_ was not mentioned in the note, of course, but Berne was fairly well-known to the Legion. However, it was unheard-of for a vampire to contact the Legion, or any other living person, so brazenly. The Legion certainly would not allow him to get away with dealing with the undead.... but then again, not many need know. He could count on one hand the number of soldiers he truly trusted; they would be more than enough. The capture- and public execution- of a vampire Ancient might be just the thing to restore Balmora's confidence in his garrison...

"Larrius!" He barked. After a moment, the door to his office opened to admit the Champion of Fort Moonmoth. "Yes, sir?"

"What was the name of that vampire hunter who arrived in town recently? The Redguard...Daven, Delvam...?"

"Devan, sir. Jole Devan."

"Right. Send word to him, Larrius," Radd ordered. "We may have some work for him to do."

* * *

At the soft knocking, Raema rose stiffly, careful of her sore back, and went to open her door. She was startled to find Assurjan on the other side of it. The Ancient never actually sought out people he wished to speak with; he would send someone to fetch them. Flustered at seeing him there, she pulled the door open wider to let him in. The movement pulled at the wealed skin of her back, making her wince. "Do you need me, my lord?"

"Only to speak to you," he answered, entering her room. "I guessed that you would prefer not to walk more than necessary."

Raema found this small consideration oddly touching, and thanked him. He waved her gratitude away with a dismissive gesture and fixed her with his unnerving white stare.

"The clan will not learn the full truth of what has happened, and so I wanted to thank you for making the choice that you did. By rights, any punishment should have been mine alone. I never intended for you to become a... a whipping boy, but the choice you made, and the fact that you thought of it yourself, are impressive."

Raema shrugged, uncomfortable at his direct praise. "Well, I'm sorry I tried to make it into something else. I _was_ thinking of using it against you somehow, making you guilty," she admitted. "It was foolish."

"But understandable," Assurjan said, with a tiny smile that she returned. She noticed suddenly how crowded the room seemed, but he continued speaking, keeping her attention on him. "It was truly my error, one that I will not repeat. For any task I give you, you will leave the lair with all the knowledge that I have, and I will indeed expect you to act independently when the need arises."

"Thank you, my lord," she said softly, sensing that some invisible balance between them had shifted somehow.

The Ancient regarded her silently for another long moment, and then stepped closer, too close. She felt as if she should step back, but her feet would not move. Raema felt frozen, paralyzed as he bent towards her, but she knew as his lips met hers that it was not sorcery that held her. His lips were cool, and the thought flickered through her mind that she was kissing a corpse. She pushed it away, knowing it was untrue. Stolen blood coursed through his veins, but his heart still beat, and he was-

His tongue brushed her lips, and without thinking she opened to him; without thinking, she returned the gesture, vaguely aware that he gripped her arms, pulling her closer…

She inhaled sharply at a jolt of pain along her tongue, and realized she had caught the points of his fangs. Assurjan stiffened, then pulled away. Raema tasted blood, her own, and knew he did, too. His hands dropped from her arms as he ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. His eyes were glowing in the dimness. They stared at each other for a long moment.

Then, with a wry smile, he cordially bid her, "Good evening," and departed quickly, without a sound. Raema was left standing alone and astonished in her room, the memory of his touch burned into her skin like a brand.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Raema shifted in her chair and sighed impatiently, wondering if Crassius Curio would return to continue their discussion sometime before the sun went down. This was not the first time she had met with the Hlaalu official, nor the first time he had been called away for business during their meetings. He had never left her alone this long, however. Usually he was quick to return, and apologetic for making her wait. The man was a lecher and a fool, but also a prominent figure in House Hlaalu, and he knew how to do his job.

After another minute of waiting, suspicions began to crowd into her mind. She stood, hand reaching for her dagger, when the door opened and Crassius entered, looking startled to find her standing with a blade in her hand. He raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“My apologies, darling,” he said smoothly, with a smile. “I did not intend to keep you waiting for so long. Please, sit down, and we can continue. I’ve made arrangements not to be disturbed, so we can finish without interruptions.”

Raema eyed him expressionlessly, an unnerving trick she had picked up from Assurjan, before returning to her chair and slipping the dagger back into its sheath on her boot. “Next time I won’t be so patient, Curio,” she said. “I have more important things to do than wait on your convenience.”

Crassius sat down across the table from her, seemingly unperturbed. “Of course you do, my dear,” he said, sounding as if he believed nothing of the kind. “Now then, where were we? The terms of agreement between Hlaalu and Juraene clan?”

“Yes,” Raema said shortly, through clenched teeth. She had determined not to let his patronizing manner bother her, but her patience was wearing thin. “You mentioned that you wanted clarification on some items.”

“Ah. Yes, the provision regarding the non-aggression between our two groups.... I am concerned that it can easily be confused, since it is impossible to tell a Juraene from a Berne vampire, or a Hlaalu from a Redoran citizen, simply by sight.”

Raema nodded. “True. When you and the Ancient are in agreement about the alliance, and have finalized it, we can devise a password of sorts. Any Hlaalu under attack by a vampire may use the word, and a Juraene vampire will be bound to do them no harm. And the same would apply to any Hlaalu who are foolish enough to attack a member of Juraene.”

“A good plan,” Crassius said. “Of course, only the higher-ranking members of the House will be informed of this password; the less people who know about this alliance, the better.”

“You may tell whoever you want, but Juraene clan will not be held responsible for the deaths of any Hlaalu who are not told the password. That will be your responsibility.”

Crassius settled back in his chair. “That is fair enough,” he conceded. “I do believe this alliance may be quite profitable. But before I can agree, there is one other thing I would like to have from you, dumpling,” he added.

Raema resisted the urge to roll her eyes; she had a pretty good idea of what he was after. “And what would that be, ser?” She asked.

He leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. “Is it so hard to guess, my dear?” he asked in a low voice, with a wink. It was all Raema could do not to reach across the table and black his eye.

“Councilman, I am...flattered,” she managed, hoping she did not sound as disgusted as she felt. “But I do not see how...sharing your bed...has anything to do with the alliance we are discussing.”

“No?” Crassius smiled. “I have things your Ancient wants- money, trade, a legitimate standing with the government of Morrowind....and he has something that I want,” he added, staring at her intensely.

“Regrettably, I am not free to give you everything of the Ancient’s that you want, ser,” she said, hoping she could get him to back off. He was their best chance at a Hlaalu alliance, and she knew Assurjan would be displeased if she alienated Curio this close to their goal. “I am still a slave, and my body is not mine to promise to you.”

“No one need know,” he murmured softly. “My servants know not to disturb me; you need only tell your master that our negotiations lasted longer than you thought, but I.....conceded, in the end.” His tone made it clear that he expected _her_ to do the conceding.

Raema's sword swung in a flashing arc from her scabbard, halting against the side of his neck before the smile had time to leave his face. Alliance or not, she had had enough.

“You’re trying my patience again,” she snapped, enjoying the look of utter shock on his face. She wondered if anyone had dared draw a weapon against him before. “The agreement stands as is. You can’t always get _everything_ you want, Crassius; every alliance has its compromises.”

Crassius glanced sideways at her sword, and back at her face, tried his charming smile again. “A compromise requires _both_ sides to give up something, my dear,” he pointed out.

Raema put a little more pressure on his neck, making him wince, and leaned forward to glare at him. “I am compromising by not killing you for your disrespect,” she snarled fiercely. “I am the Hand of the Ancient, not a whore, and you will treat with me accordingly. I will give you three days to decide before we take our offer to a Councilor who is smart enough not to mix business with pleasure.”

With that, she stormed out, knowing he wouldn’t follow. She ignored the stares and attempted courtesies of the rest of Curio’s household as she left his manor.

The plaza of the Hlaalu compound, where Curio's home stood, was crowded with merchants and shoppers. Raema gritted her teeth as she made her way through the crowds, and tried to diffuse her anger. For an instant, old habits took over, and she found herself eying the richer people in the crowd as if she were still a thief, looking for pockets ripe for the picking.

Her stomach growled suddenly, loudly, causing a nearby Breton woman to glance at her in consternation. Raema ignored her and made her way through the throng to the nearest tavern, the No Name Club in the corner of the plaza. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, but luckily Assurjan had begun providing her with some coin to spend outside the lair now, and she knew better than to attempt the long return trip on an empty stomach.

Inside, the club was blessedly quiet after the noise of the crowds outside. She purchased a small bottle of sujamma and a bowl of stew from the owner, and settled at a table in the corner to eat. She had nearly finished, and was still stewing over Crassius Curio's behavior, when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"This is almost becoming a familiar sight," the Redguard said.

Raema squinted up at him, trying to decide if she knew him. "Have we met?"

"Not completely," the man said with a smile, and sat down across from her, uninvited. "In Balmora, some months ago. Jole Devan, as you may have forgotten. But you have me at a disadvantage; I'm afraid I didn't get your name."

Thinking back, Raema did remember him, from that first errand that Assurjan had sent her on. "Of course; my apologies," she said politely. She hesitated briefly, not entirely sure that it was a good idea to introduce herself. Something in her relented, though. It would be nice to make an acquaintance that was not undead. "My name is Raema."

"A pleasure," Jole said warmly, and proceeded to strike up a conversation. Halfway through it, Raema realized with some surprise that she was enjoying herself. Jole's relaxed manner put her at ease, even made her forget her anger at Crassius Curio. The Redguard was easy to talk to, and despite having to make up a background for herself- luckily she remembered that he thought she was a mine guard- she delighted in the conversation. How long had it been since she had spoken at length to anyone about something _not_ related to vampires or vampire business? _Too long_ , she thought, pushing back her empty bowl and gathering her things to leave.

"Sadly, I must be on my way, Jole," she said. "But thank you for a wonderful afternoon. It's been a long time since I had that much... fun."

Jole smiled, his teeth gleaming white in that dark face, and didn't move to stand. "Oh, come now," he said with teasing disappointment. "Surely you're not leaving without telling me who you really are?"

Raema froze, a shiver of startled fear making her heart skip a beat. "What do you mean?" she asked, hoping she only sounded confused and not cautious.

Jole Devan leaned forward, his dark eyes intense. "I'm not stupid, Raema... or whatever your true name is. You are not a guard in any mine. I'm very intrigued by you, and I had rather hoped that after getting to know me a little better, you would be more willing to confide in me about yourself."

Raema stood abruptly, doing her best to appear offended. "And I thought I was simply enjoying a pleasant meal and conversation with a new friend," she said coldly. "I guess we were both mistaken." Without another word, she turned to stalk away. She heard the legs of his chair scrape on the floor as he stood; then he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Wait-"

She whirled, catching his hand and twisting the way Talintus had shown her, fast and strong, a little extra pressure with the thumbs, just so... the table jolted, making the dishes clatter as Jole backed into it. His other hand was still free, but he simply stood still, grimacing at the pain in his wrist and waiting for her to speak. The rest of the club's patrons had gone completely silent, watching.

"I don't really care if you believe me or not," she spat. "All you need to know is that I am not someone to trifle with." She let him go suddenly. Someone would call the guards soon if she didn't end this, and that would be more public attention than she needed. Without a backward glance, she left.

After the door shut behind her, the other customers returned to their own conversations, and life was restored to the club. _Not someone to trifle with_ , she had said. Jole smiled to himself at the challenge. "Neither am I, Raema," he murmured, rubbing his sore wrist absently. "Neither am I."

* * *

 _What is happening to me?_   Raema thought, almost frantically, making her way homeward through the sunset-lit trees. Twice in one day, she had threatened someone, promised violence to make them cooperate with her. As a thief, she would never have had the need; as a slave, a real slave, it would have been unthinkable. Of course she had threatened people before...but violence had never been her first reaction, her first _instinct._ Today, she was acting like.... like...

"Vampires," she whispered to herself, stopping in surprise. She was acting like a vampire, using her strength and power and other people's fear like tools, weapons. _Bloody Oblivion,_ she thought, entirely unsure how she felt about that revelation.

* * *

Some hours later, the sun had set completely, and only the stars lit her way along the coast. She always carried a torch in her bag, but she preferred not to use it; she knew her way well enough by now, and torches really were no good for travelling. They made it all too easy for others to see the holder, but impossible for the holder to see beyond the torch's circle of light. So Raema walked for some time in the dark, listening carefully and watching the almost-imperceptible shadows warily, until something made her halt.

She reached automatically for her sword; something was wrong. She crouched in the darkness, listening intently, but all she could hear was the rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the faint, far-off rush of waves on the sea. _Then what is making my skin prickle_? She wondered, rubbing at the bumps on her arm. It was a warm night, and seemingly calm, but the feeling of _wrongness_ persisted.

After a long moment of waiting, Raema rose from her crouch and crept forward cautiously, reluctant to draw her sword for fear the noise would give her away. One silent step forward, two, three, and the feeling of unease lessened-

A black figure burst from the night, a shadow that leapt at her, driving into her chest. Raema fell to the ground with a yell that cut off sharply as the creature landed atop her, driving the air from her lungs. Raema swung a fist wildly in the dark, feeling her knuckles connect with flesh. The figure snarled at the blow, a distinctly female voice, and an answering backhanded strike felt as if it knocked loose a few of Raema's teeth. Dazed, she sagged limply, unable to resist as the other woman caught her wrists in an iron grip and ground them into the dirt beneath her.

"You are Raema of Juraene?" the unseen attacker asked in a many-layered hiss. Raema blinked, struggling to fight off the haze that seemed to fill her head after the blow. She realized with a start that the woman's eyes were glowing now; in the complete darkness, they were like candles, illuminating golden skin and glistening fangs.

"Who?" Raema asked foggily, hoping to buy some time. The vampire moved with sudden quickness, dropping her face to Raema's neck, and she tensed, waiting to feel fangs sink into her skin.

But the vampire only shuddered -with suppressed hunger, Raema guessed- and her tongue found the pulse below Raema's jaw, traced the blood flow upward as if tasting it through her skin. "I have orders to spare Raema of Juraene clan," the vampire hissed into her ear, almost seductively. "Are you she, or not?"

"Yes," Raema said, willing herself not to flinch away from the vampire's ministrations, not to show any fear. "And you are from Aundae, I would guess?" She was quite obviously a High Elf, and Aundae was the only Altmer vampire clan on the island.

The Aundae vampire gave a feral grin, teeth gleaming. "I bear a message from Ancient Dhaunayne to Ancient Assurjan," she said, sounding as if several voices were layered over each other, a sign that she was more than ready to feed.

Raema shifted uncomfortably. "Do you always deliver messages this way?"

"I am very hungry, Bosmer," the vampire snapped impatiently, squeezing her wrists so hard that Raema was sure her bones ground together. "Tell your master that Quarra and Berne have joined together against him. My mistress declined to join them, but now they are against her, as well. She offers an alliance with Juraene, for together we can stand against them better than apart. She wants to meet with your Ancient, alone, at the Odai Plateau in five days' time, three hours past sunset. Do you understand?"

Raema nodded. "I will tell him."

"Good," the High Elf said. "Then I hunt." After a last, hungering glance at Raema's throat, the vampire rose and vanished into the night without a sound.

Raema stood slowly, brushing dirt from her clothes, and realized that was the first time she'd met a vampire who was not from Juraene clan. _Could have gone worse,_ she thought wryly, and continued on her way, wondering how the Aundae vampire had known her name.

* * *

"You are sure she was Aundae?" Assurjan asked, frowning thoughtfully.

"Yes, my lord. She was an Altmer."

Assurjan closed the book he had been reading, pushed it back onto the shelf in the library. "This is better news than I had expected," he mused, almost to himself. "I never anticipated an ally among the other clans..."

He didn't seem to expect an answer, so Raema remained silent, content to simply watch him. Almost two weeks had passed since the kiss, and they hadn't yet spoken of it; he had left her to recover from her punishment in peace, and then she had spent several days outside on errands for him. Assurjan acted as if nothing had happened, although sometimes she sensed he was watching her, the way she watched him now. His slender fingertips trailed across the spines of the books as he scanned the titles, and a thought came to her unbidden, how those fingertips would feel against her bare skin-

She pushed the thought away, along with the memory of that single kiss. Foolish fancies, of course; if he had really meant anything by the kiss, he would have mentioned it by now. He must have just been feeling guilty, or-

"You handled Curio well," he said, startling her. "He is our best chance at a Hlaalu alliance, but I will not be sorry if we must court another Councilor instead."

"Neither will I," Raema said, with feeling. She saw the corner of his mouth twist into a smile. "My lord, will you meet with the Aundae Ancient?"

Assurjan found the book he wanted, pulled it out and opened it to scan its contents. "It would be extremely rude of me to refuse."

"I don't like it," Raema said, carefully. "What if it's a trap? One single vampire overpowered me with ease, tonight.... I'm not ready to defend you against _any_ , if it comes to that."

"Then it is fortunate that you will not be going," Assurjan said. He closed the book with a decisive _snap_ and strode away, leaving Raema standing among the bookshelves, taken aback.

She hurried to catch up to him as he left the library with those long, dangerously graceful strides. "My lord, I thought-"

"Dhaunayne Aundae requested that we meet alone. That is not a request that one Ancient can refuse another. It would be better for me to decline her offer outright, than to accept and arrive with you or anyone else."

Raema frowned; she was missing something. "I don't understand." She had managed to catch up and matched her pace to his, walking at his side, where he preferred her to be. He glanced at her sideways.

"It is rare for two Ancients to ever meet in person, Raema. When we do, it is a gesture of good faith to meet without guards, or slaves, or Hands. To arrive at a meeting like this accompanied by you or anyone else would be a grave insult to clan Aundae."

"Why?" Raema asked, genuinely curious. This was not anything she had learned about under Silweyn's tutelage.

Assurjan was silent for a few moments as they walked, almost hesitant, as if he was deciding how much to reveal to her. "It is a matter of trust... among other things," he said finally, as they rounded a corner and neared the lair's audience chamber. "I certainly have no wish to insult a potential ally, which is why you will remain here, to lead the clan until I return."

At his words, Raema stumbled in the doorway to the chamber. He didn't seem to notice. "What? My lord?"

"Do not be so surprised," he said over his shoulder, climbing the stairs to his room overhead. "You _are_ my Hand, Raema; it is customary for you to fill my place in my absence."

Raema followed him up the stairs, head swimming. _One thing at a time,_ she told herself. _If he doesn't go at all, there's no need for me to be in charge of the clan..._ "What if it _is_ a trap?" she asked again. "She could be trying to trick you, or..."

Assurjan turned suddenly, at the top of the stairs, startling her. "I am very happy to know you are so concerned about my safety," he said, with an odd smile on his face.

Was he _teasing_ her? She felt heat rise to her face. She was standing several steps below him, making him tower over her; and she suddenly didn't like how he always seemed quietly, smugly amused at her. "My life depends on your survival," she said defiantly, lifting her chin. "You told me yourself, if you die, I will not be far behind. My lord."

Something changed in his expression, but she couldn't name it. His smile didn't waver. "Of course," he said quietly, and moved deeper into the room, out of sight from the stairs.

Raema slowly climbed the last few steps. He had sat down at his desk and opened the book, seeming to forget she was there. She went to stand nearby, thinking the conversation over, but he spoke again after a moment.

"You are right to be suspicious, of course. It could very well be a trap, and I have no way to be sure. However, I cannot pass up a chance to be allied with one of the clans. Raxle Berne has a very deep hatred of me, and a clan that is far more powerful than my own. He will be- he already _is-_ merciless in trying destroying me. If he is truly allied with Quarra, we have a very small chance of survival...unless Aundae is on our side. This is a chance I must take, if Juraene clan is to last."

Raema was silent, mulling over this information. "I still don't like it," she said finally, and wished she didn’t sound so childish. "If it is a trap, and you're there alone...I should go with you. At least I could... watch from a distance, maybe, and -"

"Your place will be here, Raema, taking _my_ place until I return. I promise you, I will do my very best not to die."

Now he was certainly teasing her, but she had no reply this time. He returned his attention to the book that lay before him. "Go rest and eat," he ordered, without looking up. "I will need you to return to Vivec and get Crassius Curio's answer before I depart."

"Yes, my lord," Raema replied, almost eagerly. Compared to the task of leading the clan in Assurjan's absence, paying another visit to the Hlaalu lecher sounded nearly enjoyable.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

A knock sounded at her door just before it swung open, and Raema glanced up. It was Korren, one of the newer members of the clan, a blond Nord who almost always seemed to have a scowl on his face. Warily, Raema set aside her sword and the cloth she was using to clean it. "Come in, Korren."

He did, and sat down in the chair next to her without being asked. "I just came to see how you are feeling," he said with a friendly smile that Raema didn't trust. "I imagine you must be a little...overwhelmed... with the Ancient gone?"

She eyed him, thinking about the apprehension she'd been feeling ever since Assurjan had announced his plans to go alone. "Not especially," she lied.

Korren's smile widened, flashing his fangs. "Are you certain of that? Because I am more than happy to relieve you of your duties until he returns."

Raema sighed. "You're no good at subtlety, Korren. Save your breath; I already know that you don't like me being in charge, and you think you can force me to give the clan up to you."

He leaned forward, speaking now in the multiple voices of a hungry vampire. "Do it, and I won't make you one of us."

She didn't take her eyes off his as she reached for her sword and resumed its cleaning. She had to be careful here; he would take any weakness as an open invitation to strike. She had learned, over the months, that bravado was the only thing some vampires understood. "You're not thinking ahead. What happens when the Ancient returns and finds me with fangs, against his express orders? Your plan might work for a few days...but in the long run, I'll be undead, and you'll just be dead. That won't work for either of us, so I propose that I keep the position I was given, and you can keep that pretty blond head securely fastened to your shoulders."

Korren's eyes narrowed. "He wouldn't kill me for that."

 _Either he's newer than I thought, or more stupid,_ Raema thought. "Maybe not," she said coldly. "But I will."

The vampire glanced at the sword in her hand, and back at her face. With a wordless sneer, he stood abruptly and turned to leave.

"And Korren?" Raema added. "If this is the _only_ attempt at treachery before the Ancient returns, I may forget to mention it to him." She hoped he didn't catch the lie in her voice. He scowled at her, and left without another word, slamming the door shut behind him.

Her hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, she set aside the sword and laced her fingers together, trying to calm their trembling. She had been expecting something like this. Many of the clan resented that she had been put in authority over them....but expecting it hadn't prepared her for the reality. She had come very close to becoming a vampire, and if she really had, whatever punishment Assurjan saw fit to give Korren wouldn't bring her back to the living.

She glanced at the sword, and resolved that if she slept at all that night, it would be with the weapon in her hand.

* * *

Jole shifted uncomfortably, crouched behind the boulders that lined the northwestern edge of the Odai Plateau. He had been here since sunset, as the Imperials had requested, and his initial excitement had begun to wane during the hours of waiting.

He glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers, several yards behind him. They sat on the ground, relaxed but watchful, trusting his expertise. The Master-at-Arms of Fort Moonmoth, Radd Hard-Heart himself, had come, along with his champion Larrius Varo, and three other soldiers he deemed trustworthy. Jole hoped he was right.

Slowly, he rose up just enough to risk a glance over the tops of the stones that hid him. The Ancient of the Aundae clan, an Altmer woman named Dhaunayne, still stood motionless beneath the tree in the center of the plateau, seeming to glow in the light of the single lantern beside her. She had come shortly after sundown, and to Jole's knowledge, she hadn't moved an inch since her arrival. Even now, she didn't turn her head, but her eyes flickered towards him. He held her sideways gaze for a moment before dropping back behind the stones. Her presence was a persistent weight on his mind; the more powerful vampires always were, when they were this close. He could no longer sense the other two; they were farther away, to the south. He hoped they were far enough away that their prey wouldn't sense them, either.

For the fourth time that night, he inspected the three ebony throwing stars he had brought. They had cost him more gold than most people saw in their entire lives, and he was not particularly proud of the ways he had earned that gold, but they were the best weapon he had against the vampires. They were formidable weapons even without the enchantment on them, dangerous enough to kill a weaker target in one strike. The enchantment made them invaluable, though, with the ability to almost completely drain the target's magicka. The stars were enough to cripple a lesser vampire, and he hoped they would be as effective against an Ancient.

Startled, his head shot up as a new presence appeared at the edge of his senses. The fourth vampire was approaching. Jole turned to shoot a warning glance at the soldiers behind him, and then rose up again, enough to see when the vampire arrived.

He came into the clearing silently, stopping just inside the circle of lantern light. Jole stared at him in shock; this vampire's power was impressive. This was truly an undead one to be wary of-- strong, just as strong as the others, but different. It was a difference that Jole couldn't specify, but that sent a rare jolt of fear down his spine. If they were not able to control him....

The vampire was cloaked in black, appearing as just another shadow until he reached up to draw back his hood, revealing a dark-skinned Dunmer face and a head nearly bald, save for the long black topknot that fell from the crown of his skull.

"Greetings, Ancient Dhaunayne," he said quietly. "I am pleased to finally meet you in person."

"Assurjan," The High Elf replied, omitting his title. "You are alone?"

The other Ancient merely raised an eyebrow at her rudeness. "Of course."

Dhaunayne Aundae gave him a predatory smile. "Good." Without looking away, Jole reached for his throwing stars, slowly easing one from its case. Assurjan opened his mouth to speak, then paused and turned his head sharply, as if listening. A moment later, Jole could suddenly sense the other two Ancients approaching, and he knew that Assurjan sensed them as well. The Dunmer turned his gaze back to the woman before him. "You seek to betray me?" he asked, sounding almost amused. "I thought better of you, Dhaunayne." His hands moved, readying a spell-

 _Now,_ Jole thought, and burst from his hiding place with a yell. The first star flew from his hand as he leapt, sinking deep into the vampire's shoulder before Jole's feet hit the ground. Assurjan staggered a step to the side, and Dhaunayne's power slammed into him, lightning that washed the surroundings in searing brightness. Blinded, Jole stumbled to a stop, as the air crackled with energy around him. He shook his head, blinking furiously until his vision cleared.

Amazingly, Assurjan was still conscious, though he had fallen to one knee. He thrust out a hand, and fire bloomed around Dhaunayne. She screamed in pain and fury.

Jole grimaced, thinking quickly. He was tempted to let the two Ancients battle until they killed each other, but Raxle Berne and Volrina Quarra were on their way, and would not be happy to find the terms of their agreement with the Imperials violated. He would have to risk another throwing star, and hope that it did not kill Assurjan. The Imperials wanted him alive- or at least, as alive as an undead vampire could be.

The second star left his hand before he finished the thought, and buried itself in Assurjan's thigh. The Dark Elf pitched forward with a snarl, catching himself on his palms, swaying weakly on hands and knees. Jole sprinted forward, drawing his dagger. Assurjan looked up in time to see Jole's arm swing; the pommel of his dagger struck the vampire squarely at the base of the neck, and Assurjan collapsed.

Jole stood over the Ancient, breathing heavily, as the soldiers ran up from behind him, armor rattling. He realized with a small shock that the whole ordeal had taken only seconds. He stepped away, letting the Imperials secure their prize in the special bracers they'd brought.

"My thanks, Redguard," Dhaunayne said. "He is more powerful than we had expected."

Jole shot her a disgusted look. "Don't thank me, unholy one. If I had my way, _both_ of you would be lying there in chains."

Dhaunayne Aundae fixed him with an ice-cold stare, and said nothing. Jole knelt to retrieve his weapons from the unconscious vampire. As he stood up with the bloody throwing stars in his hands, two more vampires appeared on the edge of the lantern's light. The Legion members shifted uneasily in their presence. Jole kept a ready grip on his throwing stars, watching them carefully. The proximity of so many powerful undead was beginning to give him a headache.

Volrina Quarra stopped some paces away, folding her arms and staring down at the unconscious vampire. She wore a suit of glass armor, glittering green in the dim light. "So this is Assurjan," she mused. "Hard to believe he caused you so much trouble, Raxle. It was easy enough to take him."

Raxle Berne ignored her, crouching in front of the Dark Elf. He grasped a handful of the vampire's black hair and hauled his head upward to gaze at his face. After a moment, his lip twisted in a sneer. "Pity he is not awake to see me," he said. He let Assurjan's head fall back to the ground and looked up at Jole. "You will tell him, before he dies, that I was here."

"He already knew."

That did not surprise the Berne Ancient; he turned to Radd Hard-Heart, dismissing Jole. "You have your prize, commander. I trust you will hold to your part of the bargain."

"The Imperial Legion keeps its word, vampire," Radd said coolly.

"And what will you do with him?" Raxle glanced down at Assurjan.

"We will take him to Fort Moonmoth, where he will have a public execution by sunlight."

"A slow, painful and humiliating death," Raxle said with approval. "Perfect." Without another word, he disappeared in a swirl of silvery Recall Spell light. The pressure of the vampire's power against Jole's mind was suddenly gone, and it made him blink.

Volrina Quarra fixed her white stare on the Legion commander. "There is more glory in store for the Moonmoth Legionnaires, if you wish; his clan still remains to be exterminated. Destruction of that many vampires will surely impress the civilians, no?"

Radd seemed taken aback. Obviously he hadn't thought that far ahead. "Why, yes, it would," he managed. Volrina gave him an unnerving smile. "We will contact you again," she said, and disappeared as Raxle had. With a last icy glare in Jole's direction, Dhaunayne Aundae followed suit, and Jole's headache was gone with them. He let out a sigh of relief.

The soldiers echoed it, glancing at each other. At Radd's gesture, one of the men reached down and grasped the vampire's arm, dragging him upright. "Come on, lads," Radd said. "Let's get this bastard home; then I'll buy you all a drink."

This was met with approval, of course. Larrius Varo clapped Jole on the back. "Only if this man gets two," he said.

* * *

The audience chamber was empty, silent, and somehow more intimidating _without_ Assurjan's presence on the dais. Raema perched herself on the edge of the dais, unwilling to sit in the Ancient's chair. She wasn't even sure that would be proper. She should have asked him that before he left.

Assurjan had not even been gone for two full days, yet she could not shake the sense of foreboding she'd had since he told her he was going alone. It seemed to grow worse with each passing hour, and by now she felt as if her nerves were as taut as bowstrings. She glanced at the book she had brought with her, and pushed it aside with a sigh, knowing she wouldn't be able to concentrate enough to read it. Instead, she drew her feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees, thinking.

 _This is wrong_ , she thought. _I shouldn't be here. I should be at his side, where I belong. I'm his Hand, for Vivec's sake. I don't belong here, telling vampires what to do. If he needs me-_

She laughed softly, realizing what she was telling herself. _Listen to me...I told him myself that I wouldn't be much help if he was attacked. One little kiss, and suddenly I start thinking he can't do without me. And now I'm laughing at myself like a lunatic. I should just-_

A sudden commotion in the hall outside startled her from her thoughts, and she stood up worriedly. She didn't think she could handle another insubordinate vampire right at the moment. She was halfway to the door when Silweyn stepped through with a terrified-looking Breton, her hand clamped on the back of his neck. A small knot of vampires clustered behind them. Raema looked at Silweyn's face, and the expression the vampire wore made her heart speed up in fear. Something was very wrong.

"Raema," Silweyn said. "I was hunting, near Balmora, and was about to feed, when I heard a most disturbing piece of news." She glanced at the man in her grip. "Tell her," she commanded, giving him a shove that drove him to his knees.

The man trembled, speaking in a shaky voice, but he managed a defiant glare at his captor. "The commander- at the fort, Fort Moonmoth- he caught a vampire. A powerful one, one of their leaders- some Dunmer man."

The room seemed to swirl around Raema; vaguely, she glimpsed the others behind Silweyn looking at each other in surprise. She struggled to appear calm and authoritative. Now that the threat of Assurjan’s return was no longer valid, she was in an even more precarious position. One slip, and Korren-- or someone else-- would have her head. "Where is this vampire?" she asked. The Breton looked up at her for the first time, and she saw the shock pass over his face as he realized she was not one of the undead.

"Help me!" He pleaded.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll consider it," Raema snapped impatiently.

Whatever he saw in her face, it was enough to frighten him into obedience. "They are holding him at Moonmoth, to be executed at dawn this morning."

The crowd at the doorway shifted uneasily, murmuring. Raema turned away, trying to think.

"Please, you must help me-" the unnamed Breton begged again.

Raema did not look at him. "Be silent!"

He obeyed, for a moment, but when he spoke again, his voice held only contempt. "How can you _be_ here, commanding them? You're no vampire; what unholy bargain did you-" his words cut off abruptly as Silweyn struck him. Raema breathed a silent thanks that she hadn't needed to do it herself.

She turned, without looking, to stab a finger towards the crowd of vampires, not caring who she singled out. "You; get him out of here. I don't care what you do with him. And you; summon everyone else, bring them here. Now!" She added, when no one moved. Two of them broke apart from the group to obey; the rest filed into the room to wait. Raema paced back and forth before the dais, mind racing, until nearly the entire clan was assembled.

Reluctantly, she stepped onto the dais to address them. "You may have heard already that the Ancient has been captured," she began, pausing to let the wave of surprise ripple through the crowd. "I don't know if he was betrayed, or if some empty-headed Imperials just got lucky; but we do know he is being held at the fort near Balmora, waiting to be executed at dawn. I am going to try to free him."

Another murmur of surprise slid through the vampires. "Who do you need with you?" one asked.

Raema took a deep breath. "No one," she said. "It's too dangerous to risk any of you. Even if I leave now, there will not be enough time to reach the fort, free him, and return here before dawn. If I can get him free and find shelter, I will, but I won't risk any of you."

Korren pushed his way to the front of the crowd. "Very clever, Raema. Of course, without any of us with you, without the Ancient to control you, you will be free to simply leave. Assurjan will die, and you will be free, and the rest of us will be left behind without our Ancient to protect us. I do not think I like this plan of yours."

Raema held his gaze steadily, striving to put as much authority as she could into her voice. "You don't have to like it," she said quietly, in what she hoped was a menacing tone. " _I_ am the one that the Ancient left in command. If you are unhappy with the situation, you can speak to him when we return. I'm sure he will be glad to know that you have so little faith in his decisions. Until then, you- _all_ of you- will bloody well follow my orders, is that clear?"

For a very long moment, no one moved or spoke; then Silweyn stepped forward. "Hand of the Ancient, I am yours to command," she said simply. "What would you have me do?"

Raema shot her a grateful look. One by one, the remaining vampires followed her example, until only Korren was left. He stared at Raema, then glanced at his companions; the entire room full of vampires was watching him. Reluctantly, he nodded once. "I as well."

Raema let out a breath that she hadn't known she was holding. "Right," she said, with a matter-of-fact nod, as if she had expected nothing less. "I will be leaving just as soon as I can ready everything I'll need. Silweyn will be in charge until the Ancient and I return."

* * *

His own footsteps echoed off the narrow walls, seeming overly loud in the late-night silence. As he rounded the last corner of the staircase, Jole nodded politely to the guards; they nodded back, stern-faced, and stepped aside to let him pass. Moonmoth’s only prisoner was held in the farthest cell. As Jole approached, he could see the vampire sitting on the pallet across from the door, his back against the wall. His arms were folded against his chest and his legs outstretched with one ankle crossed over the other, looking like the picture of nonchalance. Jole was not fooled; the vampire's eyes tracked his movements the way predators watch their prey. The specialized bracers shimmered on the vampire's wrists, but Jole knew better than to believe it was completely safe for him to be here. He stopped well back from the door, gazing at the Ancient.

"Good evening," Assurjan greeted him politely, without moving. His dark clothing was mudsmeared and bloodstained, and his black topknot tangled and disheveled, but somehow he still radiated dignity.

"Were it not your last, I would wish you the same," Jole said.

The undead one gave a half-smile. "Ah, well, nothing is ever certain," he replied cryptically. Then he leaned forward, his milky eyes boring into Jole. "Which clan gave you your fangs, young blood?"

Jole started, pushing away the memories that the nickname evoked. "Larishathe," he said, a little defiantly. "On Hammerfell. How did you know?"

The vampire settled back against the wall with a tiny smile and ignored the question. "And how many of our kind have you destroyed since your...cure?"

"Not enough. You're still alive."

"Hmmm. It is a pity that you will have no hand in my death, is it not?"

Jole raised an eyebrow. "I brought you here," he pointed out.

The Ancient did not move, but something changed around the two of them, a tinge of menace in the air. "If you believe I will die here, you are less intelligent than I had guessed," he said calmly. "I have no doubt that a great number of vampires have fallen at your hands. Did you not think that the destruction of an Ancient would be a great deal more difficult?"

He had, actually, and the thought had been nagging at him since the beginning; but Jole was not about to let the vampire know that. "Nothing is ever certain," he said, quoting Assurjan’s words back at him. "Now, _my lord_ , since it is so late, I must be off to bed. The sun will be rising in just a few short hours." He turned and walked back the way he'd come, but he could still feel the vampire's gaze boring into his back. "Pleasant dreams," the undead one called after him, with mocking amusement in his voice.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The stone walls of the fort loomed over her in silhouette, impenetrable and ominous. The sky behind the fortress was beginning to lighten faintly; dawn was coming. Raema crouched in the shadows, watching and thinking. The gates to the fort were closed at this time of night, of course; she would have to find another way in. Picking her way carefully over the uneven ground, she scouted around the perimeter of the fortress. On the southern side, a bare tree, twisted and stripped of bark, clung to the steep slope beside the wall. Its branches hung well over the top of the fort, and Raema smiled in spite of herself. How many years had it been since she'd climbed a tree?

She twisted the enchanted ring onto her finger, activating its invisibility spell with a whispered word. After checking that her sword and pack were securely fastened and wouldn't rattle, she wrapped her arms and legs around the tree's trunk and pulled herself upward.

The tree swayed under her weight, creaking in protest, but held. She reached the branch she needed and eased out along its length, biting her lip in concentration. It was higher than she had thought; she would have to remove the ring's spell before she jumped, or she would misjudge her landing. She watched the interior of the fort for a few moments, noting the locations of the guards and the lights, then pulled the ring off her finger and dropped onto the wall.

She landed as silently as she could, on the walkway that lined the interior of the wall. Her boot skidded across the floor with a scrape of leather against stone, and she froze, holding her breath and listening.

No one seemed to have heard, but the guards were scattered across the courtyard to her left, and at any moment they might see her. Directly before her, in the corner of the fort, a tower rose over the height of the wall, and she darted towards it for cover. She rounded the corner and came face-to-face with a soldier patrolling the wall.

He was too close for her sword; there was no time to think. Raema's fist met his mouth with a wet crunch, and his head rocked back and slammed into the stone wall. His arm rose to strike back; she knocked it away and moved in close, gripping him around the neck with one hand and holding him against the wall. Her dagger was in her other hand, at his throat, before she realized it. The blade glittered in the growing light- she had to hurry.

"Where is the vampire?" she whispered fiercely. The guard tried to swallow against her hand, and couldn't. Blood dribbled from his mouth; she had split both of his lips. When he didn't answer, she squeezed harder, feeling cartilage cracking under her fingers, and hated it. "Where is he?" she hissed, desperately.

His mouth worked open and shut a few times before he managed hoarsely, "They're moving him now- it's almost time."

"Where?" Raema snapped again, giving him a little shake that knocked his head against the wall once more. His eyes flickered upward, and she followed his gaze overhead, to the top of the tower she had pinned him against. _Of course,_ she thought. _It faces east- probably the first place the sun hits in the morning-_

He moved when she was distracted, twisting his head away from her knife and sweeping her hands away. An armored elbow smashed into her cheek. Stunned, she stumbled backward, kicking out reflexively. She expected to bruise her foot against his armor, but he doubled over with a breathless wheeze. She kicked again, catching him under the chin, with such force that his head snapped backward with a sound of bones splintering. He slid limply to the floor, with a broken neck and a deep dent in his cuirass. Staring at him, Raema swore softly. She had known that her strength was growing since living and training with the vampires....but that shouldn't have happened.

 _Well, no sense in worrying about it,_ she thought. Feeling carefully at her sore cheek, she risked a quick glance around the corner, confirming that no one was approaching, then looked back at the dead soldier. She didn't want to leave him there, where a patrolling guard could find him and raise the alarm, but there was no time to dispose of the body. She could see him clearly now, which meant that dawn was dangerously close. If she was going to do what she'd come for, she had to hurry.

Raema didn't bother with the invisibility ring again; she would need to save its power for later. She climbed onto the crenellations on the wall beside her, hands scraping on the rough stone. From there, it was a simple matter to leap onto the rounded arrow slit that protruded from the tower wall, and pull herself up to the tower roof.

A tall flagpole stood in the center of the roof, and a trapdoor was set into one corner. Raema crouched in the opposite corner to wait, and listen to the early morning songbirds as the sun crept toward dawn.

Before long, a commotion sounded from the interior of the fort. She cast the spell of the ring again, and rose up a little to peer over the wall.

A large crowd of commoners had gathered inside the fort, and the guards were roughly pushing them back to clear a path from the fort's main building to the tower where she hid. Then, across the fort, the doors opened, and a hush fell over the watchers.

A squadron of Imperial soldiers marched from the main building, and _he_ was at the center. From so high above the ground, Raema couldn't see much more than Assurjan's dark skin and black hair, but he was unmistakable. He walked with that dangerous grace, head held high, ignoring the crowd of commoners who now began to jeer and yell taunts as he passed. She felt her heartbeat quicken at the sight of him, and tore her eyes away to scan the rest of the fort, assessing the situation. _You're just relieved he's alive_ , she told herself. _But he's not safe yet. You need to focus!_

One of the men following behind Assurjan's guards caught her attention, and she squinted. A chocolate-skinned Redguard, with a headful of unruly dark curls. He looked very familiar.... _Is that_ _Jole?_ She thought incredulously. _What in the name of-_

She realized the guards had entered the tower beneath her. She retreated to her corner, putting aside her thoughts of Jole and her feelings for Assurjan. This was going to be the hard part...

The trapdoor opened, and three of the soldiers climbed out, taking up positions around the roof and looking right through her when they glanced in her direction. The third turned and reached back into the door, hauling Assurjan up. His hands were secured behind him with some kind of enchanted bracer, like those for slaves. That relieved Raema; she hadn't known what kind of magic they were using to control him, but this would be easier than she had hoped.

While the rest of the soldiers climbed through the trapdoor, one by one, the first man pushed Assurjan to the post in the center of the tower. The soldiers roughly shoved him up against the post, facing east, and secured the bracers to the pole with a short length of chain. They handled him roughly, but he bore it with grace. Raema wondered if he guessed she was there..

A final man climbed through the trapdoor; he wore glittering golden armor with scarlet embellishments, and she realized he must be Radd Hard-Heart. When Assurjan was secured to the post, the soldiers stepped back to leave an open space for Radd.

Raema wished she dared move to glace over the wall; the Redguard had not come up, and she wanted to know if it was truly Jole. She didn't dare move a muscle, though- invisibility was a fragile illusion, and she couldn't afford to ruin it yet.

Radd Hard-Heart strode across the tower to stand before Assurjan. The vampire regarded him coolly. "So you will have your vampire execution, commander," he said. "What was it worth to you, to enter an agreement with the others? With the vampires you are duty-sworn to oppose?"

Raema was interested to note that some of the other soldiers glanced at each other, surprised. _So he_ was _betrayed,_ she thought. _And not all of Radd's men were aware of this... interesting._

Radd seemed unperturbed. "I would have made an agreement with a demon himself, if it would have gotten me an Ancient. It is simply your bad luck that you happened to be the prize rather than one of the others. But rest assured; you will not be the last of your kind to destroyed by us." He turned away, addressing the men who still gathered around the tower. "I will not order anyone to remain here, but if there are two volunteers to remain and guard the prisoner until his demise, you will be commended."

Two soldiers stepped forward, saluting with fists over hearts. Radd nodded, and he and the others began to file through the trapdoor, but Raema hardly noticed. She was watching Assurjan. He stood with head held high, gazing eastward without fear at the lightening sky.

As the trapdoor closed behind the last man, the two remaining guards took up positions at the two westward corners, behind Assurjan. Raema listened, ears straining, until she heard the soldiers exit the tower below and the door slammed shut. _Time to move_ , she thought, and burst into action. The first guard fell dead with her dagger in his throat before he ever saw her. The second shouted in surprise when his companion fell; Raema swung her sword for his neck, but he stumbled backwards and, unluckily enough, lost his balance against the low wall. She planted a foot squarely in the middle of his chest and pushed him over.

A clamor began to rise from the crowd below as the man fell. Not waiting to see him land, Raema whirled, snatched up the axe from the first guard, and wedged the blade between the trapdoor and the floor, jamming it shut. By now, the cries from below were clearer- guards shouting orders, and commoners screaming. She dropped to her knees behind Assurjan, pulling her lockpick from her pocket. "Are you all right, my lord?" she asked, as she began to work at the bracers on his wrists.

"For the moment," he said, sounding not at all surprised to see her. "But dawn is not far off."

Raema didn't bother to reply. The tip of the lockpick broke off, and she cursed, pulling out another- her last one. The minutes dragged on as she worked. She risked a glance over her shoulder, and saw the archers on the far wall begin to take aim. An arrow flew past her ear, so close she could feel the wind from its passage. It missed Assurjan by only a finger's width. Raema bit her lip nervously and ducked her head lower, working frantically. She could hear soldiers pounding at the trapdoor from below, trying to force it open.

Assurjan shifted restlessly. "Raema...?" he asked in a low, strained voice.

"Almost....." she muttered. She'd nearly had...... _There!_ she thought triumphantly. She felt the lock's tumblers click into place, as the sun topped the ridge and sunlight burst across the top of the tower.

Assurjan dropped to his knees, with a sound as if he'd been struck in the stomach. He pitched forward limply, barely catching himself on his palms. With a last glance at the trapdoor- which was giving way inch by inch- Raema dropped the lockpick and hauled the vampire to his feet. As she led him to the wall, she could see the place where the rocks rose up nearly as tall as the fort. It was a long jump, but if they could reach the foyada to the east and get him out of the direct sun...

"Come on!" she cried, and leapt. An instant of weightlessness, and then her feet met the stone with a jarring impact. Assurjan landed right behind her with a grunt. The shouts of the guards seemed to fade slightly; they would have to come out the exit on the opposite side. The archers still manned the wall, though, and were loosing arrows. Raema unceremoniously grabbed Assurjan's shirt and dragged him away from the fort, sliding down the sloping stone to the ground. He stumbled towards the long shadows at the east wall of the foyada, and she motioned him northward, staying in the sunlight to shield him.

They ran along the canyon floor for what felt like miles, and Raema's mind raced faster than her feet. _I have to lose the Legion....Where do I bring him? He has to get out of the sun!_ She could have wept for joy when a sudden ash storm blew up, obscuring everything in swirls of ochre.

Her joy was short-lived, however, when she realized that the ashes hampered their own progress as well. With the sun curtained behind the ashes, Assurjan seemed to fare better, able to move more quickly, but it did them little good when they could not see where they were going. They struggled onward, afraid to slow down, afraid the soldiers would catch up.

After what felt like hours of battling the storm, Raema stopped in surprise when the crazed shapes of a Daedric ruin suddenly materialized out of the flying ashes. _Perfect_ , she thought, shielding her eyes with her hand as she searched for the entrance to the shrine.

A crumbling staircase to her right looked promising; but there was bound to be some sort of creature guarding the shrine. She glanced at Assurjan; he was paler than usual, eyes drawn and weary, moving stiffly as if in pain. He was in no condition to fight off any monsters. "Wait here," she shouted over the storm. "I'll come back."

He nodded wordlessly and sank to his knees, turning his face from the sun. Raema took the first staircase at a run, and regretted it as soon as she hit the landing, when her lungs began to burn from the ashes she’d inhaled. Wheezing, she crossed the pillared landing and climbed another set of stairs before the lopsided portal into the shrine appeared. She staggered inside, coughing, and reeled backwards, reaching for her sword. A Dremora stood before her, guarding the entrance in glistening blood-tinged black armor. His axe swung in a wide arc, straight for her throat. She ducked reflexively, and the axe’s blade sank into the wood of the shrine door, over her head. She pushed to her feet, driving a shoulder into the Dremora and forcing him backward. When she sliced at him, he knocked her sword arm away and spun past her, reaching for the axe still embedded in the door. He closed his fist on the handle, and Raema knew that if he turned, she would be dead. As he pulled it free with a powerful jerk of his arm, she made a desperate lunge, driving the tip of her sword against the armor at the back of his neck. She had expected only to stun him, hoped to weaken him enough to have a slight advantage; but by a twist of luck, her sword found the tiny space between his cuirass and the back of his helmet, and slid inside. He went limp, fingers sliding off the axe handle, and then sank to the ground. Her sword went with him, trapped in his flesh and pulling her off balance as he fell. Then his body disappeared, leaving only a pile of dust on the floor. Raema staggered and caught herself with a hand on the wall before she fell into the Dremora’s remains.

She willed her heart to slow its frantic beat, with little success. She had never faced such a powerful Daedra before. Counting herself lucky, she picked up the Dremora’s weapon and secured it to her belt before continuing deeper into the shrine. She needed to get Assurjan to safety, but she didn’t dare bring him here without making the shrine secure first.

At the base of a wide staircase, she found the true shrine, with its massive Daedric idol towering over the room. Two Dunmer women glanced up as she entered, and snarled angrily, charging at her. Compared to the Dremora, the women were like toys. Raema dealt with them easily, and after a quick search of the rest of the room, she hurried back outside to find Assurjan.

The instant she stepped outside, she felt her lungs constrict tightly, as if the ashes were pressing on her chest. The storm was getting worse. Screening her eyes with her hand, she moved as quickly as she could to find Assurjan.

He had collapsed where she'd left him, and didn't respond when she shook his shoulder. She felt at his chest; his heart still beat, circulating secondhand blood, but weakly. "Bloody Oblivion," she muttered, pulling his arm across her shoulder and struggling to her feet. By the time she topped the stairs, her legs wobbled under his extra weight, and her chest burned. Wracked with coughs, she made one last, desperate push across the landing and staggered into the shrine with a groan. It was all she could do to drag him down the stairs and lay him down near the altar before a fit of wheezing seized her. She coughed up a black clot of ashes, and then everything darkened around her.

* * *

_The boy ducked into the Wise Woman's yurt at moonrise, or what should have been moonrise if the blowing ashes hadn't obscured the sky. As he'd always done, he bore the platter of offerings from the tribe, so the Wise Woman could perform the sacrifice for the evening's ceremony. He had aided her with the weekly offerings since his sixth year, but tonight something was wrong. Something felt.... not right. The wooden chimes outside the door clunked hollowly, wildly, in the ash storm's wind._

_The Wise Woman stood on the far side of the yurt with her back to the boy. He approached her quietly, hoping he did not disturb her meditation. "Wise Mother," he addressed her respectfully. "I have brought the offerings-"_

_"I have an offering of my own to make tonight," she said in her quavering voice. "The gods have shown me your future, and I have no wish to see anything again." She turned to face him, and blood pooled in her empty eye sockets, running over her cheeks to drip onto his toes. He dropped the platter with a crash and stumbled backwards in horror. As she stepped forward, arm outstretched with bloody fingers uncurling to show him what they held, he drew in breath to scream-_

Assurjan woke with a start, heart racing. For a terrifying instant, he thought the dream hadn't ended; he could still dimly hear the roaring winds of the ash storm. _Fool_ , he thought ruefully to himself. It had been a very long time since he'd allowed himself to sleep, and even longer since that particular dream had plagued him.

He could not have slept long; he could still feel the sun's presence, a relentless pressure on his mind. He ignored it with the ease of long experience and took stock of his situation. He lay on a thick rug before a huge altar, in what was quite obviously a Daedric shrine. He felt more alert and awake, but not fully; and he felt as if he'd been bludgeoned from head to toe. He had been in the sun for far too long, and would need to feed soon, to heal and regain his strength. He had no memory of entering the shrine. Raema must have brought him after he collapsed...

 _Raema_. He sat up stiffly, and saw her nearby, sitting cross-legged on the floor and polishing her sword with a scrap of cloth. She glanced up at him, and hurried to his side when she saw he was awake. "My lord?" She said in a hoarse voice, kneeling beside him. She must have breathed too much of the ash storm. A bruise was darkening on her cheek, and blood had dried in stiff, dark splotches on her clothing. He was glad to note that none of it appeared to be hers.

"Are you well?" he asked. She gave him a small smile. "Yes, my lord," she replied. "We're just east of the foyada," she added, anticipating his next question. "Beyond that, I cannot guess our location, nor how far away our pursuers may be."

"Where are the others?"

Raema blinked. "There were no others, my lord. I came alone; it was too dangerous to risk the clan, even the ones who were willing to try."

Assurjan stared at her, realizing the full import of what she'd done. "You assailed an entire Legion garrison alone, to free me?"

She looked away and shrugged uncomfortably. "I am your Hand, my lord," she said simply.

"Indeed," he murmured, reaching up to push a strand of her black hair away from her face. Her dark eyes locked onto his own, and he cupped his hand at the nape of her neck and drew her closer.

He was pleasantly surprised when she met his lips eagerly. Her mouth was soft and warm against his own, and he forgot his discomfort and exhaustion in favor of this far more pleasant sensation. He tangled his fingers in her hair and drank her in, losing himself in her touch with a desperation he could not explain. When he pulled her closer still, she came willingly, bracing herself with one arm on the base of the brazier behind him. She was warm and alive in his arms, and Assurjan could feel the blood pulsing beneath her skin, faster than normal.

She made a small sound into his mouth, and he managed to pull back, enough to see her eyes. She was breathing raggedly. "Raema," he whispered, withdrawing his hands from her hair. "I will not be your master in this. If it is not your wish to continue, you need only tell me, and I will honor it."

He watched her carefully, seeing the emotions flicker across her features. He saw the decision in her eyes the instant before she spoke. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and fled.

Assurjan watched her go, still tasting her on his lips. In her absence, the pain returned, and the exhaustion. He fought it, knowing the nightmares that waited to twist his sleep into horrific visions, but it won in the end, and he sank back into dreams....

* * *

Raema perched on the edge of the altar, under the shadow of the massive Daedric idol, swinging her feet restlessly. Assurjan still slept, though since his chest did not rise and fall with breath, he looked more dead than asleep. She stared at him, wondering when he would awaken, and what she would do when he did. The memory of their second kiss kept repeating in her mind, and it frightened her. If he hadn't given her that chance to breathe, to _think..._

Some time later, she was rekindling the fires in the shrine's braziers when she realized that he was awake, sitting up and watching her. She hadn't heard him move. He looked more alert, but still weak and in pain. Shadows haunted his eyes, reminding her that he would have been suffering the nightmares while he slept.

"I need to feed," he said quietly. Raema heard the words with a bit of surprise, at herself- she should have realized he would hunger by now.

"You can't hunt now, it's still daylight," she pointed out, and as the words left her mouth, a cold realization settled into her stomach. She had a very good idea where this was going.

"No," Assurjan agreed, holding her gaze. "I cannot. You will have to hurry; it may take you some time to find anyone in this storm."

Raema hesitated, a horrible indecision weighing her down. Certainly, she had already killed five people- and a Dremora- on his behalf today, but they had been unavoidable. Self-preservation, self-defense... but to go out and deliberately find a person to bring back for Assurjan to kill and feed upon.... _I don't think I can do it._

"What about them?" she asked hopefully, gesturing to where the two dead Dunmer women still lay.

Assurjan didn't spare them a glance. "Vampires are not carrion eaters, Raema, you know that. A body with no life remaining will not help me heal."

Still, Raema hesitated. "My lord-"

"You tread dangerous ground, Raema," he cut her off sharply. "I am giving you an order, not an option."

A flash of anger shot through her. "You give me the option of whether to share your bed, but not in whether to kill for you?"

"My attraction to you has no bearing on your duties as my Hand, but you are well aware that a Hand is expected to hunt for the Ancient when necessary." He leaned forward, his milk-white eyes boring into her. "I am very grateful for all you have done, Raema, but I am quickly reaching a point where I have more hunger than patience. If you are so adamant about having a choice, then here are your options: Find me prey to feed upon, or I will feed on you."

Relief washed over her, though it did nothing to calm her anger. She reached up and pulled aside the collar of her shirt, exposing her neck. "Then feed on me," she said defiantly, and hoped she was not making a terrible mistake.

Assurjan stared at her, surprised. "You offer this freely?"

"I will not bring an innocent here to feed you, when you have a perfectly willing....donor.... already."

The vampire stood abruptly and came to stand before her. His eyes had begun to glow. He reached up to brush his fingertips over her neck, and his cool touch raised goosebumps on her skin. Then he gently pulled her collar back to its place. "No blood," he murmured, sounding as if the hunger had fractured his single voice into many. "It will take you too long to recover. The Legion will still be searching for us."

Raema nodded wordlessly, relieved. She wouldn't have to be bitten, at least...

Assurjan laid his hand on her cheek, cupping it gently; then his hand began to glow with a luminous, purple light. She held his gaze as the light swirled around her, until it filled her eyesight completely...and then she felt it begin to work. Every muscle clenched involuntarily as their strength was drawn out, every bone creaked in protest. Sweat broke out across her skin, and yet she shivered violently as if with fever. Her heart began to beat wildly, irregularly, and she fought not to cry out.

Then, suddenly, and yet an eternity later, it was over. The light faded away to reveal the shrine again, and then the shrine itself began to fade to blackness. Dizzy, she felt her knees buckle, felt Assurjan catch her, and knew nothing more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Colors swirled, blurry and indistinct in her vision. She blinked, watching her surroundings ooze into focus: the greenish walls of a Daedric shrine, and the idol looming overhead. Memory slid back into her mind: Assurjan had fed on her. Raema's fingers rose automatically to feel at her neck, before she remembered he had fed by touch. No mark had been left on her skin, but still she felt the effects of the spell that had drained her.

Raema sat up slowly, holding her head as a wave of dizziness hit her. She heard a rustle of clothing, and looked up to see Assurjan approaching. "How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

The dizziness subsided, and she opened her mouth to speak, felt her lips crack painfully. Wincing, she licked her lips and tried to work some moisture into her mouth. "Not especially healthy," she managed. "I'm...I'm not...?"

"A vampire?" Assurjan smiled slightly. "No, nor will you be."

She grasped the arm that he extended to her, and held back a groan. Everything hurt. "I don't suppose you have any skill at healing?"

The vampire pulled her to her feet. "My talents lie in Destruction, not Restoration," he replied regretfully. "If I were to attempt it, I would cause you more harm than good. If you are well enough to travel, we must take advantage of the darkness as much as possible. The Legion would have been unable to follow in the storm, but they will know we are moving after nightfall, and the more distance we put between us and the fortress, the better." He held out her sword, hilt towards her; she hadn't realized she was missing it. _I must be even worse off than I feel,_ she thought, taking the sheathed blade and strapping it into place.

Assurjan headed purposefully toward the shrine's exit, moving with more drive than she had seen since his rescue. After a quick glace around the shrine, she followed, wishing she had a little of that energy back in her own body.

He held open the shrine's portal for her, a completely improper and unnecessary gesture for an Ancient to make toward someone of her station, but she was too exhausted to notice. The ash storm had finally stopped, and only stars lit the shrine's exterior, faintly revealing small drifts of ashes piled between the Daedric columns. Assurjan made for the stairs immediately, and Raema trailed behind, trying as best as she could to keep up.

He led her northward, continuing along the foyada in the same direction they had taken the day before. They had not gone far before faint shouting behind them drew them to a halt.

Raema turned to glance over her shoulder; she could see torches in the distance, bobbing up and down as their bearers ran along the floor of the shallow canyon. There were many of them, and they were coming quickly. She drew her sword with a grimace. She was in no condition for any combat.

Assurjan pushed past her, back the way they had come. "Wait here," he commanded. Torn, Raema stood with her sword in her hand, reluctant to let her master face the men alone. In the next moments, the decision was made for her as the foremost soldiers erupted into flames inside their armor, illuminating the night. They screamed horribly, flailing in anguish. Assurjan was already moving. Heedless of the flames, he snatched a sword from one's hand and waded into the rest of the search party. Raema's jaw dropped as she watched him. Surrounded by Imperial Legion soldiers, he wielded the sword with one hand and spells with the other, almost too quickly for her eyes to follow. The sword flickered back and forth, finding weak points and openings in armor, while his other hand cast a myriad of destructive spells, shock and poison and frost that flashed bright enough to make Raema squint. She raised a hand to shield her eyes, unable to tear her eyes away from the spectacle that was Assurjan in combat.

The blow that knocked her aside took her by surprise; as the ground spiraled up to meet her, she cursed herself for not paying more attention. She landed hard, but managed to keep her grip on her sword- until an iron-booted foot crushed her hand into the ground. She cried out, and a second blow from the armored boot sent her sword skittering away from her nerveless fingers. The soldier dropped to one knee beside her and clamped a hand around her throat, squeezing. Raema braced one foot on the ground and drove her other leg up, angling for his kidneys. Her knee _clunked_ painfully against the steel plate on the back of his cuirass, and he only laughed and squeezed harder.

The edges of her vision were starting to blur red. Feeling the first hints of panic brushing at her mind, she fumbled frantically at her left boot and found her dagger. She thrust it with all her strength into the opening on the side of his armor where boot met greaves, just above his knee. He roared as his knee collapsed, putting more pressure on her throat as he leaned on his hand. Raema's chest burned with the need for air, and her vision pulsed red in time with her desperately fast heartbeat.

Abruptly, her attacker was gone. She drew in a gasping breath, coughing, and struggled to sit up. Assurjan knelt with one foot on the back of the soldier's neck, and his free hand cupped palm down against the man's skull. He still held the sword in his other hand; it glistened wetly in the light as he cast another spell. Raema squeezed her eyes shut as the light from his hand grew into a blinding flash. When darkness and silence settled around them once more, she blinked rapidly, until she could see the soldier still lying prone, and Assurjan approaching her. He knelt next to her, and gently took hold of her injured hand. She bit back a yelp as he touched it; it was swollen and throbbing painfully.

"Can you move it?" he asked quietly. An attempt to wiggle her fingers brought tears to her eyes instantly. _Broken,_ she thought, and shook her head mutely. He let go and took her other hand, helping her to her feet again. She stood, letting her hand hang limply as he returned to the body of her attacker. The foyada was strewn with corpses killed in various ways, but she gasped as Assurjan rolled the last one over onto its back. The soldier's body was shrunken and desiccated, and his armor rattled loosely. His face inside the helmet was nothing more than parchment stretched over a skull. She had never seen anything like that, not on a man who died less than a minute ago.

"What did you do to him?" she asked hoarsely, and coughed.

Assurjan crouched beside the desiccated body and rifled through the man's pack, pulling out a small blue vial. "I fed," he said simply.

Raema's knees felt weak. _That_ was what she had let him do to her? He glanced up and seemed to sense her unease, but said nothing, only uncorking the vial and handing it to her.

She drank, grimacing at the taste, and felt a soothing warmth spread out from her belly as she finished. Her throat felt better instantly, and her sore muscles eased. The pain in her hand lessened, but not enough. The Legion didn't supply its members with the best potions, apparently.

"Better?" Assurjan asked. She nodded.

"Then we must continue," he said, glancing back the way they had come. "More will be coming, and they will be more cautious when they see what has happened here."

Raema scanned the ground for her sword, and went to pick it up with her good hand. She made an awkward attempt to sheathe it wrong-handed, and gave up. It would do her little good in her left hand if she needed to use it, but she might as well carry it ready, in any case. Bracing her right elbow against her side to steady her broken hand, she followed after Assurjan.

"We need to get out of the foyada, my lord," she pointed out, as they left the scattered bodies behind them. "If we reach the Ghostgate with Legion men behind us, we'll be trapped."

"In time," the vampire replied. "I can levitate us over the cliffs, but I must find the narrowest point, to be sure we can make it over before the spell ends."

Raema didn't reply, concentrating on keeping pace with him and not tripping in the darkness. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried when the throbbing pain in her hand eased into a thick numbness. Before she had a chance to inspect it again, Assurjan halted, staring up at the cliffs beside them. "Here," he said. "I can share the spell with you, but we must be in contact. Give me your hand."

She obeyed, holding out her hand, still clenching the sword, making sure to point it away from him. He eyed it for a moment, and then took it carefully and stepped behind her to slide it into the sheath for her. "Thank you, my lord," she murmured. He gave her a small half-smile, and grasped her forearm. "Come," he said, and with a flicker of his other hand, she felt herself rise off the ground. It was a dizzying sensation, made worse by the fact that her head was already swimming.

Assurjan began to climb the air, moving as if he trod an invisible staircase. Raema followed his example, finding that her feet remained at whatever point she placed them. It was indeed like climbing stairs. After a moment, she was able to concentrate less on it, and focus on the new sensation of literally walking on air. The stars seemed to grow closer as they ascended, and the higher they went, the stronger the scent of ocean water reached her nostrils.

They reached the top of the cliffs that lined the foyada, and began their descent. Going down was harder than going up, and more than once Assurjan had to steady her as she stumbled and lost her "footing". She breathed a sigh of relief when her feet met solid earth again. The vampire let go of her arm, hovering several handspans off the ground as the effect of his spell continued.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly, following him as he glided forward, almost disappearing into the darkness.

"South of Caldera, I should think," he replied. "We should reach the lair by dawn. Can you continue?"

"I'll make it," she said through gritted teeth, cradling her hand to her chest.

* * *

The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten to gray when the entrance to the lair appeared before them. _Thank the gods_ , Raema thought foggily. During the last few hours of the journey, it had taken all her strength to keep going. Whatever good the healing potion had done, it seemed to wear off as the night progressed, until she realized that she'd pushed herself too far. Assurjan ushered her inside, and she went gratefully, her feet dragging wearily. Inside, two vampires were standing guard at the door, as she had ordered before she left. Their eyes widened when they saw Assurjan, and they dropped to their knees immediately.

"My lord," said one, a Dunmer with a shaven head. "We welcome your return. Are you well?" Raema felt that she should know his name, but she was unable to dredge it up from her muddled brain. She wobbled, unsteady on her feet, and Assurjan glanced at her, concerned. "See that she is taken to her room, and fetch Berandise. She has some skill at healing," he ordered the Dunmer, who stepped forward to offer Raema his arm. "Summon the clan," he told the other vampire, as Raema let the dark elf lead her away. Assurjan's voice faded into the distance as they walked.

That was the last thing she remembered, before she awoke in her own room, with white-haired Berandise leaning over her. Reacting by instinct, she startled away at the sight of the vampire, before realizing where she was.

Berandise pressed her lips together in disapproval. The elderly Altmer seemed perpetually displeased whenever Raema saw her. Whether it was because she was condemned to vampirism at an age past her prime, or resentful of Raema's position in the clan, or something else, she could not tell. But the vampire only said brusquely, "Can you move your hand?"

Raema clenched and unclenched her fist, happy to see that it seemed to be healed perfectly. "Yes, thank you," she said. She felt better than she had in days; her mind was clear, her body restored. Something niggled at the back of her mind, just out of reach...

"The Ancient requires your presence as soon as possible," Berandise said shortly, and left without another word. Raema sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed, taking better stock of herself. She was still dressed, but her sword was gone; she found it leaning against the wall in its sheath. As her fingers brushed it, memory came flooding back in a backwards rush, retracing the events that had led up to the present. Assurjan sheathing her sword for her...Assurjan feeding on her, at her own request, drinking her life and very nearly leaving her like that shriveled soldier in the foyada...Assurjan kissing her, and Raema welcoming it, dangerously close to going too far....

She sat down heavily on the bed, trying to push away that last memory. After he had fed on her, she had been too drained to think about it, too busy trying not to collapse. But now... _Now what do I do? What was I thinking?_

She forced herself to stand, to finish returning her sword to its place on her back. Time to worry later; right now, her master was waiting for her.

She found the audience chamber full. Assurjan stood on the dais in front, and to her surprise, Korren stood before him, singled out from the rest of the vampires that crowded the room. Assurjan met her eyes over the crowd as she entered. "Hand," he said simply, and the vampires stepped aside to let her pass.

"Korren," the Ancient said coolly, while she took her place at his side. "I have been told of your... distrust of the Hand, and my decision to place her in authority during my absence. Do you care to explain?"

The Nord shifted uneasily on his feet. "My lord, it was only that I feared for your safety. We all know she is a prisoner here; it seemed too easy for her to leave under pretense of rescuing you, and make her escape, leaving you to die. I feared she would betray you, and wanted only to prevent it."

Assurjan regarded him silently for a moment. Raema swallowed, and said reluctantly, "My lord, there is more." He turned to her, one eyebrow raised, and she told him about the _other_ incident with Korren, when he had come to her privately. Assurjan's face darkened, and he turned back to fix an icy cold glare on the lower vampire. Korren, in turn, was staring at Raema with a hatred so intense that she shivered.

"That is very near to treason, Korren," Assurjan said softly, in that dangerous voice Raema had come to recognize so well.

Korren drew himself up, and anger made his voice hard. "Is it any worse than leaving us, endangering the entire clan while you disappear on some errand with another clan, and leaving a _slave_ to rule in your place?"

The room had been quiet before, but as Korren's words spilled out, it went absolutely still. Raema had never heard such silence in her life- a room of undead, not breathing, not moving, only waiting in trepidation for the Ancient's response.

Unexpectedly, Assurjan smiled, a twisting of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. "I was much like you, when I was newly turned. Tell me, Korren... if I had left you in authority, would _you_ have risked your life to save me? Or would you have left me to be destroyed, to keep power for yourself, never mind that you are not strong enough to protect Juraene from the other clans?"

The Nord vampire hesitated, perhaps seeing that he had no way out. "I always do what is best for the clan," he said defiantly.

"So do I," Assurjan said quietly. He flicked his fingers, and Korren doubled over, gasping. The vampires nearest him took a few steps away, but that was the only reaction they gave. Raema watched the clan as they watched Korren die; not one face was anything but impassive.

Korren collapsed to the ground before the Ancient. Assurjan raised his eyes, not wasting a further bit of attention on the corpse. "You are dismissed," he told the clan simply. "Talintus, dispose of that," he added, with a gesture at the body.

The vampires began to leave silently, making way for Talintus as he unceremoniously dragged Korren's body from the chamber. Raema remained at Assurjan's side, silent and thinking. Twice in one day, she had seen Assurjan use sorcery that she had never seen before. Korren had simply....dropped dead, without a hand laid on him, without any visible magic. Guilt pushed at her conscience; if she had kept her mouth shut, he might not have been executed, at least not like that...

When the room was empty but for the two of them, the Ancient made for the stairs that led to his private chamber above. "What- my lord, what spell was that?" Raema asked, following him.

"A drain of his health," he replied over his shoulder. Raema stopped dead in surprise, halfway up the stairs.

"You can do that from a distance?" She had never heard of such a thing, not to the extreme that the target _died_.

"Not easily, not without a significant drain on my own power. But yes."

"My lord... was it truly necessary? He didn't actually _do-_ "

"I cannot afford to be merciful, Raema," he cut her off sharply. "We are now on the losing side of a war. Allied together, the three other clans easily can and will destroy us, given the opportunity. As it stands now, we have a slim chance of survival. If there are divided loyalties within Juraene, we are doomed. I told the truth when I said I was like him. When I challenged my Ancient, he let me live, thinking he could use me and my power, unwilling to throw away one of his creations..."

"And you started your own clan, instead," Raema finished for him, beginning to understand.

"Not by choice or desire; but yes. And now we are at war. May the gods damn me to Oblivion thrice over if I make the same mistake."

The depth of feeling in his voice surprised her. Raema looked at the floor, abashed. "I apologize. I didn't realize..."

"Nor did I expect you to," he said, more gently, and changed the subject. "Did Berandise treat you well?"

"Yes, my lord." Raema flexed her healed hand again. "She is very skilled."

"I never thanked you properly for my rescue," he said, and her eyes shot up to meet his. The memory of their kiss beneath the Daedric idol resurfaced, and she found herself wanting to do it again, to feel his lips against hers with that hunger that had nothing to do with her blood. She shoved the image away.

"I only performed my duty, my lord," she said, feeling her face flush. He smiled and, perhaps sensing her discomfort, turned away.

"Yes, of course.... If you feel you are recovered enough, there is a matter to which I would have you attend."

Raema groaned inwardly. She felt right as rain after Berandise's healing, but the thought of leaving the lair again so soon was not appealing. But she said only, "I am at your service, my lord."

"Crassius Curio agreed to our terms and finalized the alliance, did he not?"

She blinked. Caught up in the chaos of the past few days, she had completely forgotten about the agreement with House Hlaalu. "Yes. He decided that staying in our favor was worth more than getting me to share his bed."

"Rather foolish of him," Assurjan remarked, with a smile. Raema felt herself blushing again. _What in Vivec's name is wrong with me?_ The Ancient didn't seem to notice, continuing, "Curio is about to be put in a difficult position. House Hlaalu is friendly with the Imperial Legion. Obviously, in light of recent events, that is unacceptable...unless he can use his influence to secure a more sympathetic man as Master-at-Arms for Moonmoth."

Raema mulled that over. "What's going to happen to Radd Hard-Heart?"

The vampire's eyes met hers, white and emotionless. It was unsettling how quickly he could change from anger to amusement to...unreadable. "Kill him."

In truth, Raema had half been expecting to be sent on an assassination for months now. When the thought had crossed her mind on various occasions, it was only to wonder when it might happen, and what she would do when it did. Now, she thought back to the rescue on the rooftop of Fort Moonmoth, for the first time since it happened. She could see Hard-Heart standing before Assurjan, condemning her master to death. She knew she should feel compassion, at least a little bit, or reluctance- anything but the white-hot blaze of anger that filled completely filled her. She replied without hesitation.

"It will be done, my lord."

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Tree branches whipped past her face as she ran through the late afternoon. There was no real urgency, but the running both calmed her, with the steady rhythm of footsteps, and fueled her anger, making her heart pound in time with the fury that pulsed in her veins. Over and over, the same things ran through her head: the memory of Assurjan waiting for his certain death, betrayed after responding in good faith to an offer that promised aid to his clan... and the knowledge that Radd Hard-Heart had conspired with the other three clans to do it. For that alone, Radd deserved what was coming to him, even besides the fact that he was still a threat to Juraene clan. As she ran, Raema imagined killing him, and smiled.

In time, the tops of the fortress' towers rose over the hilly terrain before her, and Raema slowed to a walk as she pulled out her enchanted ring, unwilling to use up her own power of invisibility so soon. She activated the ring's spell and stood unseen in the road before the fort, considering her options. Since night had not yet fallen, the gates were still open, though guarded. After confirming that the spell on the ring would hold, and that her supplies were not loose enough to rattle, she sneaked forward, past the guards and across the fort's courtyard.

It was slow going, for she had to move carefully and smoothly enough to draw no attention to herself. More than once she had to freeze in midstep, arms windmilling for balance, to avoid walking into guards who crossed her path. When she reached the fort's main building, she waited for what felt like hours, praying the invisibility would hold, until a Legion soldier opened the door and she could slip through after him.

Inside, Radd Hard-Heart himself stood near the door, unmistakable in his dark beard and templar armor, looking over some papers and muttering to himself. She was sorely tempted to kill him right there and be done with it, but there were too many others nearby. Instead, she carefully sneaked away, into the stairwell of the western tower. Barrels and crates of supplies were stacked under the staircase, and Raema cautiously edged her way behind them, concealing herself in the tiny hollow beneath the lower-most stairs. After making sure that she was well-hidden, she removed her ring, hoping to save its power for later, and settled in for a long, uncomfortable wait.

* * *

Several hours later, after the noise and activity of the fort had died down, Raema readied herself to leave her hiding place. She had spent the time listening to the guards make their rounds, counting the number of her heartbeats between each time a guard passed the stairwell, and the number of passes before there was a change of guard. She had to admit, they performed their job with admirable precision.

A glance at her ring revealed that it needed more time to recharge fully. As the next guard paced past the stairwell, Raema cast her own power of invisibility, waited to gauge the perfect moment, and then sneaked silently out from her hiding place and up the stairs.

She hadn't been sure this was the correct staircase, but she felt that luck was on her side as she approached a door adorned by a carving of the same winged beast that decorated the woven tapestries on the walls. _This has to be his room_ , she thought, and crouched next to the wall to think.

A tentative try of the handle revealed that it was securely locked, and trapped with a spell to fall on whomever opened it. Slowly, she reached into her pack, cautiously feeling in the dark for her lockpick and probe. She held her breath as she slipped them out as silently as she could, and set to work on the lock.

The lock itself proved to be fairly easy, opening with a soft click on her second try. The trap was more difficult, however. By the time she managed to disarm it, her knees ached from the stone floor. Rising stiffly, she stowed away her tools and drew her dagger instead before easing the door open.

Her prayers were answered as it swung inward: it moved silently, on well-oiled hinges. Raema paused in the doorway, scanning the room. A single candle flickered in a wall-mounted sconce next to the door. It provided more than enough light to make out Radd Hard-Heart, asleep on his back in a massive bed at the center of the room. His sword leaned against the bed, within his reach.

Raema licked her fingertips and snuffed out the candle flame, blinking until her eyes adjusted once again to the darkness. A narrow window across the room was open to the night, and moonlight streamed in to make a pearly rectangle of light on the floor; it did little to illuminate the room, but she didn't need much light. After a quick glance back into the hall, she eased the door shut. It closed with a soft clunk of wood on stone, and she winced.

"Who's there?" challenged Radd, his voice hoarse from sleep.

She sprang through the darkness, landing with her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his chest, her knife at his throat. As the chill of the blade against his skin registered, he froze, fingers only inches away from the hilt of his sword. Raema pressed harder, the knifepoint dimpling his skin in warning. "Get your hand back," she said, and blinked. Her voice sounded sinister and predatory to her own ears, as if it belonged to someone else.

He relaxed, slowly bringing his hand away from the sword. He stared up at her, no fear in his eyes, and then recognition flashed across his face.

"You!" he exclaimed, startled. "You're the n'wah who freed the vampire-"

She added another bit of pressure to the knife, watching him grimace. "And you are a dead man. My master will not suffer you to live after the actions you took against him. "

He glared up at her, still unafraid. "Well, then? Get on with it," he snarled.

"Not yet. I need answers from you. Who is the Redguard that was here at the fort that day? Where can I find him?"

He only smiled humorlessly. "Dead men don't answer questions, Bosmer."

"Wrong," she snapped. "They do when they have a choice. Tell me what I need to know, and I will kill you right here. Not an auspicious death for a Knight Protector, but relatively quick. Refuse to answer, and you can come with me to spend the rest of your days as food and entertainment for an entire vampire clan."

Radd Hard-Heart stared at her for a long moment, gauging her sincerity. "Jole Devan is a professional vampire hunter from Hammerfell," he said at last. "He offered his services to the Legion when he arrived on Morrowind, and we accepted them after I received the proposal from Berne clan. He usually can be found in Vivec; I think he may have a home there."

Raema was silent for a moment, thinking over this information. Radd continued, "Perhaps an arrangement can be reached with your clan. Wouldn't it be more advantageous to use us against the others? I would guess that your clan needs any ally it can get..."

She stared down at him. Trying to play the clans against each other was a dangerous game, but she supposed it appealed to him more than the knife at his throat. She waited, hoping to feel something, anything, other than the anger and hatred that filled her, but she could only remember Assurjan standing on the rooftop of the fort, facing his death without fear, while Hard-Heart gloated over it.

He continued, "You are obviously very loyal to your master; you must be a woman of great honor. I don't think you're willing to kill me in cold blood."

Raema smiled. "Wrong again," she said, and drove the knife into his throat.

Afterwards, when he had finished dying, his eyes seemed to stare at her with unblinking accusation. She resisted the urge to reach over and close them. Instead, she climbed off the bed, and cursed when she realized that blood had spattered across the front of her shirt. Moving swiftly, she rummaged through the armoire that stood in the corner, pulling out a plain white shirt. It was too big for her, but it would do. She belted it around her waist, rolled up the sleeves, and sat on the edge of the bed to clean her knife with a corner of the blanket.

When she was satisfied that it was clean, she stared at the window, thinking. At second glance, it hardly deserved the name; it was only an arrow-slit, made for archers to defend the fort behind cover of the solid brick walls. Any attacking soldier, wearing bulky armor and muscled from it, would never be able to climb in... but a slim Bosmer woman should be able to slip out. It was her best chance for escape; the fortress' gates would be locked at this time of night, so there would be no escaping the way she'd come in.

Raema smiled, remembering the levitation potion she'd brought from the lair. A few sips later, she was gone, leaving Hard-Heart's body tangled in the bloody sheets.

* * *

Her hands were shaking. Raema wrapped them around her mug and stared at them, certain that blood still clung to them somewhere- she could _feel_ it. She closed her eyes, but the image of Hard-Heart's bloody, open throat gaped at her from behind her eyelids. Her eyes snapped open again, hoping to find something of interest in the tavern to distract herself.

Unfortunately, there was very little of anything interesting in the No Name Club. It was almost as if the owner had no imagination at all; not enough to name the business, and certainly not enough to make it an appealing destination. She stared into her mug instead, seeing her own watery reflection. Her dark eyes looked shadowed, haunted. Abruptly, she drained the mug, letting the cheap shein burn its way down her throat and settle uneasily in her belly. After setting down the mug, she considered ordering another. It was tempting, but she decided against it. Though her "official" business in Vivec was concluded-- Crassius Curio had promised to arrange the assignment of a new, more sympathetic Master-At-Arms for Moonmoth-- she knew Assurjan would take a dim view of her getting drunk while away from the lair. Grimly, she pushed the mug away.

A clearly inebriated Dunmer wandered unsteadily to her table, a flagon of sujamma in his hand. "May I-"

"No," Raema snapped testily, and the man moved on, muttering under his breath. She glared at his back, glad to find a target for her antagonism. She had felt well enough after leaving the fortress, except for the eerie feeling that Hard-Heart's dead eyes still followed her movements. But on the journey to Vivec, while she walked alone in the night for hours, guilt had begun to sneak up on her, burrowing into the back of her mind and taking up residence. She had ignored it at first, the way a farmer might ignore a patch of roobrush in his fields, aware of its presence but too busy to do anything about it. Then, while she waited in the middle of the night for Curio's servants to wake him, she had tried to rationalize it. The death had been an order from her master, after all; why did it matter _how_ she killed him? And he was a Knight Protector in the Legion... what chance would she have had in a real fight?

 _Better than you might think_ , the guilty voice in her head had whispered, remembering the soldier on the walls of Moonmoth, whose armor she had dented without even thinking about it.

Then Crassius Curio had come to meet her, sleepy, half-dressed and unapologetic for it, and she'd been too busy delivering Assurjan's ultimatum to continue that line of thought. Afterward, she'd turned her efforts towards locating Jole Devan, but had no success. Discreet questioning of the few people she found in the streets brought no answers she could use, and she was reluctant to ask more openly. She wanted to catch Jole off guard, not warn him that someone was looking for him. As a last resort, she'd returned to the tavern where she'd met him the last time, hoping to find him or someone who knew him.

She had been there for some time now. She wasn't sure how long, but the tavern owner was starting to give her some odd looks. With a sigh, she stood, still wishing she dared have one more drink to silence the turmoil in her head. Instead, she left the mug on the table and took her leave of the club without a word.

* * *

Jole strolled along the length of Hlaalu canton's walkway in the near-dawn twilight, unable to keep the smile from his face, despite the fact he could hardly keep his eyes open. The lovely Favela Dralor had offered, between furtive glances for her husband's servants and a passionate kiss, another invitation to... entertain her, in two days' time. _I'll likely need that much time simply to recover from last night,_ he thought wryly, his grin widening. Favela was a bit older than he normally liked his women, but he had come to realize that wasn't necessarily a bad thing...

He passed an Ordinator, his or her impassively masked face glinting in the pale light, and nodded politely. The Ordinator ignored him, and Jole rolled his eyes when the guard was out of sight. He turned the corner into the covered ramp that led to the upper level, and came face-to-face with the mysterious young Bosmer woman- the one who had saved the vampire Ancient from his execution. Instantly wide awake, he jerked back, dropping into a defensive stance and drawing his dagger. She looked just as surprised as he felt, and moved in a near-reflection of him, darting backwards as her sword rang free of its sheath.

For a long, tense moment, they stood motionless, eyeing each other warily. Jole's sleep-deprived brain struggled to remember her name. "Why, good morning, Raema," he smiled, unmoving. "What a pleasant surprise. Where did we see each other last? Fort Moonmoth, wasn't it?" He realized with surprise that it had only been two days since she and the vampire had disappeared from the fort, leaving behind only a pile of decimated bodies in the Foyada Mamaea.

"So it was," she agreed.

"You know," he said conversationally. "You really should tell the guards your account of what happened that day at the fort. They've been trying to piece together what really happened, and any eyewitnesses are supposed to come forward.... I saw an Ordinator just around the corner, there. Friendly fellow. Shall I fetch him for you?"

"You're welcome to try," she said with fierce intensity, and he saw her knuckles whiten on her sword. She smiled at him, and there was something feral and desperate in it. He recognized that look-- he had worn it very often himself. Despite the situation, he felt sorry for her. He lowered his dagger and spread his hands placatingly. "You work for him, don't you?"

The tip of her sword wavered. She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if she'd changed her mind. "Yes," she said simply, after a moment.

"And he sent you to kill me."

To his surprise, she lowered her sword. "Not you," she said shortly. "I have questions for you."

Jole sheathed his weapon, hoping it would prompt her to do the same. "I was just on my way home," he said. "Walk with me?"

Warily, she put her sword away, and matched his pace as he continued on his way, though she kept a cautious distance between them. "Who are you, really?"

"I hunt vampires," he said simply. "They are unholy abominations, and I have sworn to destroy them."

"That must be...dangerous," she replied. "Aren't you worried about being turned?"

Jole smiled. "No. That's already been dealt with; once you are cured of vampirism, it's impossible to be turned again."

He took several more steps before realizing that she was no longer walking with him. He turned around to see her standing frozen, her face white. "Are you alright?"

"There's a _cure_ for vampirism?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"Of course," he said, puzzled. "Didn't you know that?"

Inexplicably, she wheeled away and vomited over the rail of the walkway. Jole winced, hoping there was no one walking on the lower level. "Raema, what...." His voice trailed off as she straightened, and turned back to look at him. The absolute fury on her face was enough to make him take a guarded step backward. He had stared down countless vampires in his lifetime, but only a few had ever had that look on their faces. They were always the most dangerous ones, unpredictable in their anger and overwhelming in the strength it lent them.

"What is it?" he finished his question.

"I have to go," she said, almost absently. She obviously was not focused on him any longer. Without another word, she spun away, taking off in the opposite direction, at a run.

Jole watched her go, wondering if he should follow. He was more intrigued by her than ever... but she was likely to attack him if he pursued her, and after the night he'd had, he was in no condition to fend off an overwrought fighter of her strength. _And it seems unlikely that that's the last I'll see of her,_ he thought, and smiled. When she was out of sight, he turned and continued homeward. There was a very soft -and mercifully empty- bed waiting for him....

* * *

She moved in near silence; engrossed in a book, Assurjan didn't sense her presence until the instant before she spoke. "You never told me vampires can be cured."

There was anger in her voice, and accusation. Surprised, he looked up to see Raema standing at the top of the stairs, as if afraid to come into the room. Her hair was disheveled, and her face was pale, making her eyes seem hugely dark and deep-set. She was wearing a shirt that was too large for her, and it made her delicate frame look smaller, almost fragile. "Is there a problem?" he asked mildly.

"Yes, there's a problem," she spat. "I agreed to become your thrice-damned Hand, I did everything you ordered me to do...I bloody well let you feed on me! And I didn't truly regret any of it, because I knew it had to be done, to protect the clan and you, to earn my freedom. But now I've murdered for you, Assurjan. _I killed a man in his bed_ , for no other reason than that you wanted-- what? Revenge? And only afterward, I learn-- from the man who captured you, no less-- that you could have _chosen_ long ago to be free of this... this curse?"

He stood up slowly. She must have spoken to the Redguard hunter who'd captured him. Assurjan had wondered what her reaction would be when she learned about the "cure". The timing of it was unfortunate, but she was dangerously close to crossing the line. "Do not presume to lecture me on matters you do not understand," he warned her softly.

"Well, explain it to me, then," she retorted.

Assurjan leaned back against his desk, watching her closely. "Being cured of vampirism is not as simple as drinking a potion or visiting a healer, Raema. Once the change has been made, only the gods themselves can restore us to our old nature, and they certainly will not do it for altruism's sake. They always want something in return, and usually it is nothing mere mortals can accomplish. The Redguard is very lucky. In all our history, only a handful of vampires have ever been cured as he was."

He watched her think over that information. "But I still-"

"Any guilt you feel is not my doing, Raema," he cut her off, crossing the room towards her. "I only wanted Radd Hard-Heart dead to send a message to Berne and the others. I did not order you to steal into his bedchamber and assassinate him in his sleep. If vampirism indeed could not be cured, would that truly make your actions more honorable?"

Her eyes narrowed. She was getting faster; if her anger hadn't warned him to expect something, the blow would have connected. However, he saw her fist coming, just barely, and caught it in one hand. "You forget your place," he growled, holding her arm motionless. She only glared back at him, unafraid. It had been a long time since he'd seen her this angry.

"Is it any worse than playing the Camonna Tong and Thieves against each other?" He asked her. "How many of them will die in their little conflict that we helped along? What about the men you killed to free me from the Legion? You did not seem so agonized by their deaths. If you have not realized it by now, doing any sort of business in Morrowind is a risky venture. Whether you work for a vampire or a Great House or a priest, someone is going to need killing eventually. Would you prefer to work for the Morag Tong, killing spoiled scions of the Great Houses who have nothing to do with you?" Still holding her hand immobile, he stepped closer to drive home his next point. "Now is not the time to suffer a crisis of conscience, Raema... but if you think I should find another Hand, there is always room for another sweet-blooded Bosmer among the cattle."

She looked at him carefully, as if unsure she'd heard him correctly. "You wouldn't," she challenged, eyes flashing.

"Do you truly doubt me?" he asked her coldly. She stared at him for a long moment, and then looked away, her anger dissipating. "No... my lord. Forgive me."

Assurjan let her hand go. "Understand, Raema, that there would be very few vampires if we truly had a choice. Even those who choose this existence soon find that it is a poor alternative to true life. But with the choices we _are_ given... most of us prefer to survive, the best way we can."

"Like me," she said softly.

"Like you," he agreed. He reached up and brushed her hair back from her face, half expecting her to pull away. She didn't, though, but only stood still, holding his gaze. "I understand the guilt you feel, Raema. I only ask that you remember this: you will not always be able to sacrifice yourself to avoid what must be done, as you did for me in the shrine. Hard-Heart had to die, and a quick death in his bed was better than he deserved."

She nodded wordlessly, but she didn't look convinced. Assurjan let his hand drop. "Get some rest," he told her, and she nodded again, pulling away.

When she had gone, Assurjan let out a sigh, torn between pride and worry. Raema was evolving into the ideal Hand... he could not have asked for a better death for Hard-Heart. The message that his murder would send to Juraene's enemies was perfect. Yet she fought what she was becoming, still bound by the morals of the living and unable to reconcile them with her new allegiance. She had to come to terms with the reality of her situation, and soon....

 _On the other hand_ , he thought wryly, _maybe this will teach her to think before she acts._ Blind obedience was all very well, but he needed more than that from his envoy. With another sigh, he made a mental note to ask her what had happened with the vampire hunter, and turned back to his texts....

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Raema perched on the top of a stone outcropping in the dark, enjoying the solitude outside the lair's entrance. It was a cloudy night, making it nearly impossible to see, save for the distant flashes of lightning that illuminated the night in fitful flickers. She had been watching the storm as it moved closer; now, the wind was starting to pick up a bit, bringing with it the scent of rain and faint sounds of thunder.

The approaching storm seemed to be a warning of something, the distant rumblings an ominous sign of more than just bad weather. Raema drew her feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees, glad to be away from Assurjan. Both he and herself had been in foul moods all day, and it was not pleasant to be in his company. Even worse, she still found herself staring at him when he wasn't watching, a habit she had picked up recently. Though her anger at him had not faded completely, and currently the feeling was mutual, she still found herself wanting to kiss him again. The idea made her stomach flutter with both fear and anticipation; it was entirely too easy to imagine herself giving in to him, where before she had fled.

She shook her head, as a louder, nearer clap of thunder sounded. Any "surrendering" she might do seemed unlikely to happen soon. After their conversation that morning, he had been nothing but curt with her- when he wasn't ignoring her presence entirely. Her mind wandered back to the first time she had spoken to him that day.

_"Good evening," he said, sparing a glance from the amulet he was enchanting, as she approached. There was genuine concern in his voice when he asked, "How do you feel?"_

_"Better, my lord," she answered, strangely touched, despite the fact that she still seethed with anger, both at herself and him. It was calmer now; she could push it under the surface of the respect required of her, but it still threatened to boil over again. "How can I be of service?"_

_Assurjan didn't answer immediately, too engrossed in the task before him. After a moment, he asked almost absently, "I had forgotten to ask you earlier... did you have any trouble with the Redguard?"_

_That was an uncomfortable reminder of the previous day's events. The feel of Radd Hard-Heart's lifeblood splashing onto her skin, hot and slick, came back to her. Raema fought back a shiver of guilt and revulsion before answering, "No, my lord. We nearly came to blows, but after he mentioned that he had been...cured, I left him there and-"_

_Assurjan's head snapped up to stare at her, and his fingers stilled on the soul gem he held. "You_ what _?"_

_With horror, Raema realized only then what she had done. Jole Devan, an experienced hunger of vampires, was a very large threat to Juraene clan.... and she had let him live. It had not even occurred to her that she should do otherwise, she had been so preoccupied by the revelation that vampirism was not permanent._

_Assurjan was still staring at her, and a wave of fear washed over her. "My- My lord," she stammered, "I did not intend to- I was so surprised when he told me, that I didn't even think-"_

_With the spell interrupted, the soul gem's glow faded beneath his fingertips. He dropped the now-useless bauble on the table and stood slowly, never taking his eyes off her. "That much is apparent," he said, his voice low and angry. He came towards her, and it took a very large effort for Raema to avoid stepping back from him._

_He stopped only a handspan before her, seeming to tower over her. "Do you care to explain yourself?" The menace in his voice made her shudder._

_So, nervously, she told him everything: how she had met Jole in Balmora on that first excursion from the lair, and then again in Vivec, but had not known or even suspected anything of his true background until she saw him at Fort Moonmoth. By the time she finished, he still had not moved._

_"My lord... I had almost come to think of him as a friend, of sorts, so when I met him in Vivec-"_

_"Does he know where we are?" he interrupted. Raema shook her head vehemently._

_"No, I never told him, nor did he ever follow me. My lord, I would not betray you!"_

_Assurjan's eyes narrowed. "For your sake, Raema, I certainly hope not," he said, warningly. "I assume that when you were talking with your_ friend _, you were unaware that it was he who captured me?"_

_Raema's jaw dropped open, and it took an effort to close it. She felt sick. "Yes, my lord. I was not aware of that..." Her voice trailed off as he turned away. He had never told her the circumstances of his actual capture._

_The Ancient paced the length of his chamber, deep in thought. An idea came to Raema as she waited._

_"My lord," she began, hesitantly. "Since he is a hunter of vampires, with no fear of being turned... he could be useful to us. We could use him against the other clans; I think I could convince him to do it, since he knows me already, and-"_

_"No," Assurjan said flatly. Knowing better than to argue, Raema fell silent. After a moment, the Ancient turned to face her once more. "You will not have any more contact with this man until I bid you to do so, Raema. You certainly will not seek him out, and if there are any more chance encounters, you will not speak with him. Not one word. Do I make myself clear?"_

_"I understand, my lord," she said, and he held her gaze for a long moment before turning away._

That was the last time he had bothered to speak to her that day. Sitting on the stone outside the lair as the storm-wind began to howl through the trees around her, Raema rolled her eyes. As if she hadn't risked her life - _twice_ \- to save his own... and he still believed that she might betray him. _I am too much your creature now, my lord_ , she thought, dryly. Radd Hard-Heart's bloody head reared up in her vision, and she blinked it away, refusing to think about it any longer.

The storm had nearly sneaked up on her while she had sat deep in thought; now the trees surrounding the lair's entrance whipped violently back and forth in the wind, and she could see the lightning bolts where they arced across the sky. She suddenly felt uncomfortably exposed, perched on the stone that raised her up towards the storm. Before the lightning could seek her out, she unfolded her legs and slid down the side of the stone to return to the lair. She started back in surprise when a vampire appeared in the next flash of lightning, not an arm's length before her.

Her sword was free of its sheath before she remembered that it might only be a member of the clan returning from a hunt.. and then a closer look revealed that it was no vampire she recognized. Not being undead herself, she was unable to sense which bloodline a given vampire belonged to, but she knew all the members of Juraene clan, and he was not one of them.

He was a Dunmer, with shoulder-length hair that flew wildly about his head in the wind. He seemed just as surprised to see her, and took a step backward, raising his hands defensively.

"Who are you?" she demanded, trying to will her heart to slow its startled, frantic beat.

"I am called Irarak," he said simply, and peered at her closely. "And, unless I am gravely mistaken, you must be Raema, the Hand of the Juraene Ancient."

"I might be," she said. "You should not be here, Irarak."

"Neither should Juraene clan," he said. "That is one of the tidings I bear for Assurjan. Berne knows this place, and he is coming. Unless you are vastly more prepared than I imagine, you all must flee."

Raema's chest felt tight with fear at his words. She stepped closer, holding out her sword in warning, watching for any sign that he would attack her. "The last time a vampire warned us about Berne clan, it was a trap. I'm hardly inclined to believe you."

He raised an eyebrow, a gesture that reminded her of Assurjan. "I am here at the very entrance to your lair, am I not? Do you not think that Raxle Berne can find it as well?"

"Maybe you told him how to find it," Raema pointed out angrily. Lightning flared overhead, followed immediately by a deafening roar of thunder that drowned out part of his reply.

"-ing my patience, mortal," he snapped. "I have come in good faith to warn a fellow vampire of danger, a man I once called a friend. I think he will be very angry if you prevent me from sharing information that may save his life."

Raema did not answer immediately. It was just as likely that if she brought an outsider into the lair, Assurjan would see it as another near-betrayal. But could she take the chance that this Irarak was wrong? _It would be easy enough to kill him once he is inside, if it becomes necessary_ , she thought, before she could stop herself.

"Assurjan knows me, Hand," the vampire said, more calmly this time. "He knows that I am no longer tied to Raxle Berne by anything more than my bloodline. He will speak with me."

"Fine," she said. "Any weapons you carry remain right here. And I warn you, if you even _think_ of casting so much as a levitation spell, I will have your head. I am taking a big risk by allowing you inside, unholy one; don't make me regret it."

Irarak smiled, his fangs glinting in the flashing light. "I carry no weapons beyond my own abilities," he said. "Which, I assure you, will not be used. Lead on."

The skies chose that moment to burst open, and rain fell in sheets, obscuring their surroundings and soaking the two of them instantly. Reluctantly, Raema led the vampire to the hidden entrance, sliding the door open.

Inside, Silweyn and a newer vampire, a young Imperial man named Estan, guarded the entrance. At the sight of Irarak, they both hissed angrily, reaching for weapons and readying spells.

"Stop!" Raema commanded, relieved when her voice cut through their instinctive reactions. They froze, staring at her, no doubt wondering if she was betraying the clan.

"This man bears a message, an important one that the Ancient must hear. Silweyn, inform him that we have a.... guest, by the name of Irarak, with tidings concerning the safety of the clan. I will stay here with him and await the Ancient's orders." To her relief, Silweyn obeyed. Raema shifted to stand ready, watching both Irarak and Estan. The Juraene vampire looked conflicted, fingers twitching, his wide eyes fixed on the outsider. At that moment, Raema didn't entirely trust him.

"Stand down, young blood," she ordered, trying to put the authority of a senior vampire into her voice. It seemed to work; at any rate, Estan relaxed somewhat, though he kept his eyes fixed on the other man.

For his part, Irarak waited with a nonchalance that belied his situation, reaching up to wring the rainwater from his auburn hair, and trying unsuccessfully to do the same with his wine-colored robe. Raema ignored her own sodden state, letting the water run in rivulets down her face. As the minutes wore on, she had to fight off a chill from the cold rainwater, and began to wonder worriedly what Assurjan's reply would be.

After what seemed like an unnecessarily long time, Silweyn returned, with several other vampires behind her. "The Ancient awaits the presence of his... guest, in the audience chamber," she said.

"Come," Raema bid Irarak, and led him down the halls, noting that the others fell into step around the two of them in a strange parody of an honor guard. No one spoke, and they walked in silence until they reached the audience chamber. Assurjan sat in his chair on the dais, flanked by several senior members of the clan. The vampires that had accompanied her and Irarak to the Ancient now stepped back, clustering at the sides of the room. Raema remained next to the Berne vampire, hand on her sword, and realized belatedly that she should have formally announced him when they'd entered the chamber.

Assurjan didn't seem to notice. To everyone's surprise, Irarak knelt on one knee, head bowed, before the Ancient had a chance to speak. "My lord Ancient," Irarak said. "I humbly thank you for allowing me to be here in your presence."

"You may rise," Assurjan said, looking bemused. "It has been a very long time, Irarak. The last news I heard of you, you had established yourself in a tomb near Gnisis, and were being worshipped as a god by a group of misguided fools."

Irarak chuckled. "Ah yes, my... followers. You name them aptly, but they serve my purposes. Perhaps one day I may even honor my promise and bestow on them my 'dark gift', as they call it.... if they earn it."

Raema grimaced. She had heard rumors of a cult of vampire-worshippers; but why anyone would _choose_ to join the undead was still beyond her understanding.

Assurjan smiled slightly, humoring his guest. "I understand you claim to have information about the safety of my clan. Perhaps you have heard that the last offer of aid we received was a trap. I hope you understand that I am not likely to believe you, Irarak."

"Your Hand said much the same thing," Irarak replied, with a glance at Raema. "I would think less of you if it were otherwise. I came with no hidden agenda, Ancient One; I propose no alliance, I want nothing in return. I came only out of concern for an old friend, and a desire to thwart the plans of an old enemy in any way I can.

"All the vampires on Vvardenfell know by now that you are at war with the other clans. Berne has been sending emissaries to us, the rogues, trying to bring us back into the fold; he even sent one to me. I assume he will guess my answer when dear Eloe fails to return with a reply. I want no part in this conflict, but it would please me to interfere with Raxle Berne's plans, and so I have had my... _disciples_ do all they can to spy on his doings. It was one of them who learned that the Ancient caught word of this place."

At those words, the other vampires in the room glanced at each other. They remained silent, but the tension in the room seemed to escalate until it was almost palpable.

"How?" Assurjan asked, sitting as still as stone.

"I do not know," admitted Irarak. "Anden overheard the three Ancients plotting their attack; he had been following the Quarra wench, and her trail led to their meeting place at Ashalmawia. When Anden returned with these tidings, I came as soon as I could to warn you. Your enemies are coming, my lord, and if I may be so bold as to advise an Ancient, I would say that you should flee this place, quickly."

The thought came to Raema that this would be the perfect opportunity for Raxle Berne to attack; Irarak could certainly inform the other Ancient of Juraene's new shelter when they had relocated. She looked over at Assurjan. He sat silently for a long moment, as if gauging Irarak's sincerity. "I see. I assume you know the perfect haven to which we can flee, directly into Berne's waiting fangs?" He said finally, almost echoing her thoughts.

Irarak hissed angrily, one of the inhuman sounds that Raema had never grown accustomed to hearing from the vampires. "You know what the s'wit did to me, Assurjan," he snarled, all formal respect forgotten. Raema tightened her grip on her sword. "And even _if_ \- by some crazed design of Mad Sheogorath- I desired to aid him, he would kill me without a thought."

"You are right, of course," Assurjan said softly; he had clearly reached some decision, but Raema could not guess what it was. "You will have to forgive my suspicions. Juraene clan is extremely grateful for your warning, and for any further information you may be able to share with us."

So, Irarak spoke more at length, relating all of Berne's plan that his follower Anden had overheard. While he talked on, more and more members of the clan trickled into the room. As the crowd grew with his words, so did the knot of fear in Raema's chest. Raxle Berne was traveling towards them, slowly, to allow groups of vampires who lived away from the lair to join him, but he was already dangerously close. Aundae and Quarra clans were approaching as well, in separate groups to avoid the chaos that would arise with different clans traveling together. The three clans would converge on the lair in less than a week's time, if Irarak's estimation was correct. No one in the room needed him to explain what would happen when they arrived.

When at last Irarak had told all he knew, the chamber was filled with a worried sort of silence as the vampires absorbed the warning. Assurjan had leaned forward slightly in his chair; now he sat back, his face showing the carefully blank expression that Raema knew so well by now. She knew he could not show any concern before the tribe; and this reminded her that it applied to her, as well. She made an effort to imitate him, smoothing her face to show no reaction, though her stomach was churning.

"Irarak," Assurjan said finally. "I thank you for all you have shared with us. Juraene clan is in great danger, but without your aid, it would surely be worse. We are in your debt. The hour grows late; if necessary, you are welcome to remain here until the next sundown before departing, and you may share in any of our slaves if you hunger."

The Berne vampire smiled. "You are generous, my lord Ancient, but it is not necessary. My home is not far, and there are shelters along my path, in case the dawn catches me unaware. I will leave you to plan your defenses, but rest assured that if I can aid you again, I will."

Assurjan bowed his head in gracious acceptance. "Very well. Hand, escort our guest from the lair, then return to me immediately."

"Yes, my lord," Raema said, and turned to guide Irarak out of the audience chamber.

They walked silently through the corridors of the lair, until they reached the entrance. Raema paused with her hand on the door. "Thank you," she said. "I don't understand your reasons, but I am grateful."

At the question in her voice, Irarak smiled again. He seemed unnaturally cheerful for a vampire. "If your master has not seen fit to explain more of his past, it is certainly not my place to do it. But perhaps, when we next meet, you will understand better."

"Will you truly turn the ones who follow you?" she blurted out, surprising herself. The idea that there were people who worshipped this vampire, hoping to share in his unlife, still astonished her.

"Not while Raxle Berne lives," he replied darkly, and offered no explanation. "Now if you please, Hand, the night wears on..."

"Of course," she murmured, and opened the door for him.

It was still raining, though the worst of the storm had passed; the rainfall made little more than a soft rustling noise in the darkness. Irarak stepped out into the night. "Take care of your master, Raema," he said. "There are dangerous days ahead of you both."

"I will," she replied, but he had already vanished into the darkness.

When she returned to the audience chamber, it was empty. She crossed the room and climbed the stairs to Assurjan's bedchamber. There, he leaned over his desk, on which he had unrolled a large map of the island. Several more scrolls, most likely other maps, were piled to one side.

"Irarak is safely on his way, my lord," she told him.

"Good," he said distractedly, without looking up. When he didn't continue, Raema took up her usual position near the top of the stairs, settling in to await his commands. She found herself falling again into the habit of watching him. The topknot of black hair that fell from the crown of his skull was braided today. It trailed past his shoulder blades in a tight, whip-like cord, and Raema wondered idly what it would feel like to unbraid it, to run her fingers through its length.

He glanced up at her, his pale eyes a sharp contrast against the dark skin. "We will need to discuss our relocation with the others," he said. "I have several places in mind, but someone may have a better idea."

"You believe him, then?" she asked, a little surprised.

Assurjan sighed. "I believe that since he found our sanctuary, it is entirely possible that the other clans can do so. I do not trust him, but whether he spoke truly or not, we are no longer safe here. Did he say anything to you, before or after I spoke to him, that I should know?"

"I did ask him, before he left, if he would truly turn undead the people who follow him, and he said 'not while Berne lives'. Does that mean anything significant?"

The vampire shook his head. "Only that he has a measure of sense in his head. Any vampires he created would lose their loyalties to him if Raxle Berne ever found them."

"Why?"

"Do you think the title of Ancient means nothing more than the eldest vampire in a clan?" he asked, amused. "Ancients, by necessity, must hold much power, for they are the clans' best defense against their worst enemies."

That was an easy guess. "Other vampires, my lord?"

"Yes. And one of the abilities we have is the control of our own. It is not absolute, and grows weaker as the vampire in question becomes stronger, but an Ancient can command younger members of their own bloodline. If Irarak brought over new undead, they would be Berne, and Raxle would turn them against him in a heartbeat."

"I see," was all Raema could manage. She had not been aware of this...power... that Ancients had, and it came as a surprise.

Assurjan rested two fists on the desk, staring down at the map. "Irarak is in a difficult position," he continued thoughtfully. "If we are destroyed, Berne will certainly put his energies to finding Irarak, now that he has come out of hiding. And if, by some mad grace, we are victorious, Irarak will be one of the last Berne vampires, and the other clans will destroy him instead."

Raema suddenly felt sorry for the rogue vampire, and doubly grateful that he had risked so much to warn them. _But Assurjan is right not to trust him_ , she reminded herself. _Perhaps Berne offered to put aside whatever lies between them, to persuade him to betray us._

"You will find more detailed maps in the library," Assurjan said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. "Bring them to me, all of them, and then summon the senior vampires to the audience chamber. We must move quickly."

"Yes, my lord," Raema murmured, and hurried to obey.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

The room was unnaturally silent, as only a room of waiting vampires could be. There were not many present, for the number of Juraene vampires powerful enough to claim the title of Elder was almost pitifully small. Silweyn was there, and Talintus, and Berandise the Altmeri healer; and two others, Dunmer men that Raema did not know well, Orvam and Serathas. No one spoke. All eyes were on Assurjan, who stood wordlessly, still perusing the maps she had fetched for him.

Standing at the entrance to the audience chamber, Raema clasped her hands behind her back and shifted on her feet surreptitiously, wishing she'd had a chance to change into dry clothing after Irarak had left. After she had brought the maps from the library, Assurjan had asked her to spread them open on the table, and by then the other vampires had already responded to the summons. They had been discussing options for nearly two hours, and now only waited for Assurjan to decide their course.

Finally, he reached out his hand, stabbing one long, slender finger at a point marked on the southeastern corner of the map. "We will go to Nchardumz," he said. "It is easily defended, and far enough from the other clans that they will have difficulty reaching it."

And closer to the few friends we have, Raema thought, noting how much closer the Dwemer ruin was to Vivec, and their Hlaalu allies.

"Very good, my lord," Talintus said. "But there remains the matter of the difficulty we will have reaching it. Nchardumz is a long way from here, and I don't want to be caught on the road by three other vampire clans."

"He is right, my lord," Orvam remarked. "If they are as close as Irarak claims, we will not have enough of a lead on them, even if we leave tonight. I would rather be safe at wherever we are going before they realize we are gone from here."

Silweyn shook her head. "I would wager that they are already watching us," she pointed out. "Once they found us, they would not leave us... unattended. I would even guess that Berne already knows Irarak was here."

"If he spoke a word of truth at all," Serathas said darkly. "If it isn't a part of some plot that we cannot see the workings of. I say-"

"Enough," Assurjan interrupted. "We will not waste time trying to guess which one of myriad possibilities is correct. The only matter of importance is that our secrecy is no longer assured, and we must move from this place. My decision is made... and yet, Talintus spoke truly. Our passage to Nchardumz must be secured. Your energies would be better spent devising a way to do this."

A long silence followed his words. Raema turned her own mind to the task, hoping she could be of help. An idea had almost completed formation in her thoughts, when Talintus spoke again.

"This much is plain: We need to find out if Berne truly is en route to attack us, and if so, we need a way to delay him until we arrive safely. If we were in the Legion, I would order a scout sent out, to gather information and harry the enemy, distract him, as long as possible," he said, echoing Raema's own idea.

Berandise scowled. "Will you volunteer yourself for this plan of yours, Talintus? Because it would be certain death for whichever vampire attempts it."

Talintus opened his mouth to retort angrily, but the Ancient cut him off. "I have too much need of you here, Talintus. In fact, I have need of all of you; and I would not trust such a task to anyone of lower rank."

As the vampires subsided into thought once more, Raema took a step forward. "My lord, if I may interrupt..." she began, feeling all six pairs of eyes turn to her as she spoke. "This is a good plan, except that Berandise is right; any vampire Berne clan laid eyes on would be killed. The obvious solution is that you need someone who is not a vampire."

"She is right, my lord," Serathas said thoughtfully, and quickly enough that Raema suspected he had been thinking the very same thing. He was one of the vampires who had little love for the slave who outranked him, and would gladly see her gone. "If she's captured, Berne would be more likely to keep her alive until-"

"Until he turns her, and forces her to betray us," Assurjan interrupted. "Use your head, Serathas."

"My lord," Raema said hurriedly, talking over Serathas' angry reply, "With a scroll of Divine Intervention, or some such spell, I could be out of any danger immediately, and if they tried to turn me, I would have three days to cure it..." She let her voice trail off. Assurjan was looking at her without expression.

"No," he said flatly.

Shocked, Raema worked her mouth open and closed for a moment, before finding the words to reply. It was not like him to refuse a suggestion outright, without explanation. He was entitled to, of course, but he almost never turned down her suggestions without at least appearing to consider it. "Don't you see?" she asked, failing to remember that they were not alone, where she could disagree freely. "This is our best chance for the clan's survival. Why won't you-"

He straightened, from where he had been leaning over the table, and the look on his face made Raema stop short. "You forget yourself, Hand," he said coolly. "You are dismissed."

Raema opened her mouth to reply, then shut it, knowing better than to argue further, especially when he spoke in that tone. Without a word, she left the audience chamber, fuming. _Why will he not see?_

* * *

For most vampires, Argonian blood was an acquired taste; its bitterness was a far cry from the light, sweet taste of Wood Elves, or the almost intoxicating headiness of Dunmer blood. Assurjan had never learned to appreciate the reptilian race's flavor, but today he found that it suited his mood. He drank deeply, as if doing so would save him from his impending decision. Before long, however, he realized that it was not blood he hungered for. He shoved the slave away, and the Argonian- male or female, Assurjan could not tell- crouched to the ground before him, head bowed. Assurjan watched absently as bronze-colored blood welled up from the wound, pooling in the hollow of the slave's collarbone before spilling over and soaking into its ragged shirt.

Raema was right, of course. He was loath to send any member of the clan to certain death for the sake of distracting Berne... if indeed any of them could be trusted to carry out the task properly. Raema had a better chance of survival-- and a better chance of being forced to betray Juraene clan, once Berne turned her.

The thought of Raxle Berne laying his hands on Raema made Assurjan's lip curl in disgust. He would not send his Hand to that fate.

......And yet, he could not afford to put the life of a single slave over the safety of the entire clan. She was right; this was the best course of action.

 _Except that when Berne gains a new vampire in her, he will gain all the knowledge she holds of Juraene clan_ , he thought, and grimaced at the argument that insisted on repeating itself in his mind.

And then, a new possibility, dark and secretive, wormed its way into his thoughts. _If I--_ No. He pushed it away, refusing to even consider it.

He glared down at the slave who still knelt before him. "Do you know where to find the Hand?" he demanded.

"Yesss, my lord," the Argonian hissed.

"Summon her to me," Assurjan ordered. "Immediately."

As the slave left the room, the Ancient stared after it unseeing, wondering what in Vvardenfell he was going to do.

* * *

Raema climbed the stairs to the Ancient's chamber, feeling her stomach churning. She had wondered how long he would make her wait before chastising her. It had not been very long, but she had had some time to collect her thoughts and realize her mistake. He usually welcomed her suggestions- he always said, after all, that he needed a Hand who could think for herself- but she had crossed a line, arguing with him in front of the others, undercutting his authority. Well, she would gladly take whatever castigation he had for her, if she could only make him see sense.

 _In any case, anything would be better than still sitting here, waiting for Berne clan to fall on us like netches on their prey_ , she thought, as she topped the stairs.

Assurjan sat in his chair near the desk, facing sideways, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. He glanced up, wordless, as she entered the room.

"I apologize for my behavior earlier, my lord," Raema said after a moment, when he did not speak. "I should not have argued with you in front of the others."

"True," Assurjan agreed easily, standing up. He seemed less angry than she had expected. "But it needed to be said, all the same. I do not fault you for it. After you left, we decided nothing except that I must think on it."

Raema took a step further into the room. "If I may ask... why are you so reluctant to do this, my lord? Surely you can see as well as the others that this course offers the best chance for survival?"

"Not for you," he said, looking at her intently. "I have spent a long time and much effort in molding you into the Hand I require. I don't wish to lose you." His tone said more than his words alone, and she caught the meaning hidden in his voice. He was afraid for her! The realization sent an irrational and surprising jolt of joy through her. She fought to keep her voice level and not sound as giddy as she felt.

"Surely it cannot really be that dangerous? All I need is an Intervention scroll, or something of the like, to escape from any tight spots... If I contract vampirism, it would take only a blessing from whichever temple I reach to cure it, and I can return again to keep delaying them, and again, until-"

"Just how often do you think you can do this, before they realize your tactics?" He asked, and she fell silent. Assurjan turned away, pacing the length of the room. Raema waited patiently, content to watch the way he moved. Though she had long ago become accustomed to his dangerous grace, it still was lovely to watch..

"Do you understand the possibility that you will not return from this fool's errand?" he asked, from the far end of the room.

"I understand that it is possible, my lord. But I don't believe it will happen."

Assurjan gave a soft, exasperated sigh. "I am glad at least one of us is so optimistic."

He paced back across the room, and stopped in front of her. "I do not wish to do this, Raema. But you are correct; it is obvious that this offers us the best chance for survival. You may go- on one condition."

Relief washed over her. At least he- and the clan- would have a chance to move to safety while she did her best to cripple Berne clan. She nodded, waiting to hear the term he named.

"Once you have escaped, whether you have killed Raxle Berne himself or no one at all, you will not return to them. He is more clever than you realize. If you enter his reach a second time, he will be sure that you do not leave it again, by any means. When you have done what you can to gather information and to slow them, and then escaped, you will find us immediately. Do not go back, to either Berne or the other clans. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, my lord," she said. Something in his voice finally drove home the point he had been trying to make, the one she had not quite accepted: She was about to embark on the most dangerous mission she had ever attempted. The anger and pride that had fueled her refusal to believe him melted away.

He stepped closer, until she could almost feel the heat of his body against her skin. "Be careful," he murmured, reaching up to brush a lock of her hair back with his fingertip.

Raema nodded slowly, unable to tear her eyes away from his. The moment lingered, stretching impossibly until his hand dropped, and he made as if to step away. Then, emboldened by the intimacy of the moment, and the fact that she might never see him again, Raema did something she had longed to do for a long time. Reaching up, she slid a hand around to the back of his neck, drew him down and kissed him.

For a horrible instant, she was afraid she had been mistaken, that he would push her away in rejection. But then his arms came around her waist, pulling her closer, and he returned the kiss with a fierceness that sent a tingling rush of warmth through her, leaving her lightheaded.

Finally, she broke away, breathless, and gazed up at him. He gave her a small smile, and leaned back a little, keeping his hands on her waist. "You know my thoughts," he said softly. "In this, I will not claim mastery over you. Though if you continue to tease me so cruelly, maybe..." he added, jokingly.

Raema smiled. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind - _there is no time for this. He is a vampire. What are you thinking?_ She ignored them all and looked up at him. "I am not teasing, Assurjan," she whispered.

He made a soft sound in his throat, and descended hungrily, capturing her mouth with his own. Raema wrapped her arms around him, and surrendered.

* * *

She let out a low moan as he moved over her, within her. Assurjan gazed down at her, at her pale face flushed with desire, and could hardly believe that she now shared his bed. He had hungered for her for so long, this deceptively delicate-looking elf with the courage to stand up to him more than any other member of the clan... And now she was his, truly his, in a way that no slave-purchase could match.

 _But not for long_ , thought the foreboding voice in his mind, unbidden. _Unless I-_ Assurjan forced the voice away. _I will not_-

Then Raema drew him down, kissing him with an ardor that rivaled his own, and all coherent thought fled.

* * *

_She smiled at him, a breathtaking smile that warmed his cold, deadened soul. Raema reached towards him, to take him in her arms- and then, from the pitch-darkness behind her, other hands reached for her instead. Half-rotted hands, as if afflicted with Corprus disease... the flesh melted from their corrupted bones in viscous strands that sizzled as if they boiled where they fell on her skin. She screamed as the festering hands latched onto her arms and legs, around her neck. They drew her away, backwards into the darkness, where a thousand fanged mouths waited hungrily. Helplessly, he watched Raema scream and thrash in their grip, until her cries turned into crazed laughter, and she raised stone-white eyes to meet his own. She smiled, and blood dripped from her fangs, and ran from her eyes in scarlet tears. She raised one arm and pointed, marking him for death._

Assurjan jerked awake, a cry dying in his throat as he realized he had been dreaming. Lying next to him, Raema mumbled something in her sleep and shifted a little, pressing closer against him. He stared at her, remembering the dream. _That is all it was_ , he told himself. _Only a dream._ But he failed to convince himself. It had been years since he had dreamed a true-dream. The few scholars who bothered to study the phenomenon agreed that any sort of necromancy, especially vampirism, interfered with the prophetic gifts of dreams... but that didn't mean it was impossible. He stared down at Raema, sleeping peacefully in his arms, and knew that she would not survive this mission. Once again, the thought that he had so vehemently ignored during their lovemaking resurfaced. He gave it a fraction of a moment's more consideration before rejecting it once more.

 _You cannot afford to be selfish,_ he admonished himself. _You have a responsibility to the clan, to the vampires who follow your bloodline, who look to you for leadership-_

 _Well, what about the clan?_ He began to debate himself. _If- when- Raxle Berne turns her, she will betray us all. She will have no choice. How will you protect the clan from the treachery of your very Hand?_

Since the day he had found himself the Ancient of his own bloodline, the leader of creatures turned undead by his own hand, Assurjan had known the importance of decisiveness. Any hesitation would undermine his authority, and so he strove to always make quick, firm choices, until it had become second nature to him. It was a skill that had served him well for many years, and he had long ago ceased to be conscious of it at all. But now a horrible indecision weighed upon him. For the first time in an age, he was faced with the dilemma of uncertainty. If the situation were less grave, he would have laughed at himself. How long had it been since his conscience interfered so profoundly with his actions?

 _She will return from Berne as an undead,_ the voice said, resolutely. _You have now dreamed it, seen it. The only thing to decide is, which clan will she serve?_

Assurjan gritted his teeth, staring at the sleeping elf beside him. She trusted him... enough to give of her body in love, enough to sleep in his very arms without fear.

_It must be done._

Steeling himself, Assurjan reached up to rest his fingertips on Raema's cheek, dark ashen against her pale skin. Her lips curved slightly, a faint echo of the smile in his nightmare; apparently she was dreaming more pleasantly than he had been. Without conscious thought, Assurjan relaxed, releasing control of the magicka that lay ever at his fingertips. He felt, rather than saw, it flow into her. He sensed its progress as it burrowed deep into her and coiled, waiting, a malevolent seed that no one but himself, who had planted it, could find.

"Forgive me," he whispered, as she slumbered on.

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Assurjan's arm was flung protectively across her chest when she awoke. For a moment after waking, Raema didn't move, enjoying the intimacy and unwilling to disrupt it. But each passing moment drew Berne closer to the lair, she knew. Reluctantly, she wriggled free and slid off the bed to fetch her clothing. She stole a glance at the vampire while she dressed. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but she could see his eyelids flicker as his eyes tracked unknown dreams.

Once dressed, she strapped her sword back over her shoulder and made her way back to the bed. Assurjan still dozed; she sat on the edge of the bed beside him and watched for a moment, uncertain whether to wake him. After a long moment, she stood and turned towards the stairs.

A hand clasped her wrist in a grip firm enough to immobilize her. Raema turned back to meet Assurjan's gaze. Though his eyes were still the milky white of a vampire, they seemed shadowed, haunted.

"Berandise has an Amulet of Divine Intervention," he said finally, his voice hoarse with sleep. "It would be easier to use than a scroll."

Raema nodded, suddenly feeling strangely shy. "I will fetch it from her before I leave, my lord. And I will find you in Nchardumz after I have used it."

"See that you do," he replied. "I can't have you trying to win freedom when I'm too busy to chase after you," he added. His tone said he was joking, but Raema could tell his heart was not in it.

She made an attempt at a crooked smile. "But that would be the perfect opportunity, my lord."

A little bit of real humor touched his smile at her words. His grip on her wrist tightened, drawing her back to him. A tiny thrill raced through her, even as she protested weakly, "There's no time..."

"I know," Assurjan murmured, as he buried his hands in her hair and pulled her down for a deep kiss.

When he let her go, Raema drew in a shaky breath. "You're not making this any easier," she admonished.

He smiled once more. "I suppose not."

A moment longer, and then she forced herself to move, to walk away, proud that she managed not to look over her shoulder, no matter how desperately she wanted it. The touch of his hands lingered on her skin as she went in search of Berandise, willing her heartbeat to slow...

* * *

Rain still dripped lazily from the sky, a cool, persistent drizzle. It had been raining since Irarak’s visit the night before; now, in the late morning, the air was thick with moisture, pressing on her lungs as she exited the lair. Berandise’s amulet dangled from a leather cord around her neck. Raema wished there had been some way to use a Mark and Recall spell, but none of the Juraene vampires were skilled enough in mysticism to teach her. An enchanted object was her best chance at any sort of transportation spell. She glanced down at it to reassure herself; it glistened with magic where it hung between her breasts.

Squinting in the rain, Raema took a deep breath, wondering what to do next. Irarak had been less than informative on _where_ exactly the other clans were hiding. The only clue he had offered was that they met in Ashalmawia.

Raema unslung her pack and rummaged through it, pulling out her map. A few moments’ study showed that Ashalmawia - most likely a Daedric shrine, by the name- lay far to the north, along the Sheogorad coastal region. It was a long way, but her only choice at the moment. Resolutely, she strode off into the rain, wishing she could tell how high the sun hung behind the clouds.

She walked for an hour or so, distracting herself by indulging in memories of the night before. They made her skin tingle, made her feel a little breathless, but they were a much more pleasant line of thought than wondering what she would do when she found the vampires.

Raema reached the outskirts of Gnisis at what she guessed was early in the afternoon. The tiny mining town was deserted in the rain, save for a few soldiers from the nearby fort. She avoided them carefully; by now, all the Legion knew the description of the Bosmer working for vampires. She made her way to the Madach Tradehouse, which looked to be the best place to find information. _And food...._ she thought. She hadn’t eaten since the day before, she realized.

Inside, the inn was dim and smoky, smelling of unwashed bodies and bad cooking, but at least it was dry. She threaded her way through the tables, ignoring the leers of grimy miners and shifty-looking traders. The Breton behind the bar glanced up disinterestedly as she took a seat. Raema pulled a small pouch of gold from her pocket, watching the man perk up as the coins inside jingled.

She counted out seven pieces and slid them across the bar. “Something hot to eat,” she said. The man -Raema presumed he was the Madach for whom the tradehouse was named- took them without a word. “And information,” she added, replacing the coins with the entire pouch that was left.

Madach raised an eyebrow, snatching up the gold. “What sort of information, lovely one?” he asked, with a smile that was a little dodgy around the edges. Raema tried not to roll her eyes. “Anything unusual that’s happened recently,” she said, trying to keep her inquiries nonspecific. Questions about vampires in particular would be the sort of thing he’d likely report to the _next_ person asking for information.

His smile widened. “That could take a long time,” he said. “Information first, or food first?”

“Food,” Raema admitted, reckoning that she could eat while he talked. He pocketed the gold and went to prepare her meal. Raema shifted uncomfortably in her drenched clothing, drumming her fingertips restlessly on the bar.

Madach returned a few minutes later, with a plate of boiled kwama egg and overcooked saltrice. Raema ate ravenously, ignoring his amused looks as he pulled up a stool next to her.

“So, unusual occurrences....” he mused. “Yansurnummu’s pants were stolen; I hear he’s too embarrassed to go after the thief himself.”

Raema stopped eating long enough to glare at Madach. “Not the sort of thing I paid good coin to hear,” she said warningly. He grinned, and continued. “Several pilgrims have been missing for the past 3 days, and there’s rumors that some Dunmer to the north is leading the abolitionists....” he went on, and Raema listened with only half an ear as he reported all sorts of useless trivia about this villager and that miner and those soldiers...

“....the other day, some bandit from the south came staggering into town, babbling something about vampires-” Raema nearly choked.

“-we all thought he was mad, but the Legion locked him up. They'd been after him for a long time; he was one of the robbers who’ve been hiding out in Andasreth. They were real surprised the next day when he woke up with fangs. General Darius is getting a lot of complaints from the villagers that his men could’ve prevented it if they’d given the man a healing potion, but I don’t think humane treatment of prisoners is high on the Legion’s priorities these days...”

Raema stopped listening. _Andasreth_ , she thought, as Madach kept talking. She had passed by the abandoned stronghold on her way to Gnisis, and hadn’t seen any signs of vampires, but it was certainly possible....

A cold dart of fear shot through her. Andasreth was dangerously close to Juraene clan. Assurjan would be moving the clan at sundown, but Berne and the others could easily overtake Juraene if they left from Andasreth. Impatiently, she let Madach wind down his collection of rumors, and stood up abruptly. “You’ve been very helpful,” she said, pulling out a few more coins from her pocket. “Some more gold for your trouble,” she offered.

He took it with a leer and a wink. “Are you sure there’s no other... services... I can provide?” he asked as she gathered her things.

“Don’t press your luck,” she snapped over her shoulder, and left before he had time to respond.

As she exited the tradehouse, she realized with a start that she could see shadows, and they were dangerously long. She glanced to the west; the rain had stopped, and the clouds were thinning. She had a few precious hours until sunset, but not many. Raema turned southward, and as soon as she was out of sight of the village, she broke into a run.

* * *

Assurjan stared at the shelves, trying to choose which texts would be most worth the trouble of taking. Rather distressingly, it was impossible to take the entire library with the clan. He had built up an impressive collection over the years, but it was hardly the kind of necessity he could afford to take when the clan fled the lair. There were a few that he knew he would need... but as he ran his fingertips across the worn leather spines of the books, his thoughts kept turning to his Hand instead.

He wished desperately that he could call her back, could keep her safe at his side as he moved the clan. But this was not the time to begin doubting himself. The decision was made, the deed done, and she was already gone. Resolutely, he put thoughts of her aside, and pulled down a copy of _Corpse Preparation, Volume I._

“My lord?”

He glanced up; it was Talintus, standing in the doorway to the library. “What is it?” he asked, placing the book on the top of the pile in a nearby slave’s arms. The man seemed to be struggling under the weight of the tomes; Assurjan waved him away. “Take those to Silweyn,” he ordered.

When the slave had gone, Talintus approached. “Preparations are almost complete, my lord. Weapons, potions, slaves... we await only sundown, and your word, to leave for Nchardumz.”

“We are not going to Nchardumz,” the Ancient said absently, pulling a few more books from the shelves. There was a moment of surprised silence.

“My lord... if I may ask-”

“At sundown we will make for Telasero.” Assurjan added a scroll to his collection and handed the texts to Talintus. The other vampire looked at him with confusion. “My lord, if I may ask...again... is the Hand aware of this? Will she be able to find us?”

Assurjan forced his expression to remain calm. Talintus was no doubt concerned for Raema... it would not ease his fears to see that the Ancient was equally worried. “No. She is not aware of it. If she is followed, if she leads them straight to us, what use is it for us to move at all? We will find her, when circumstances allow.” He fixed the other vampire with a hard gaze. “See that every living and undead is ready to move at sundown, and not a moment later.” Talintus bowed his head in assent.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Raema breathed a breathless prayer of thanks when the upper levels of Andasreth appeared ahead over the treetops, still lit by a not-yet-set sun. Slowing to a walk, she let herself catch her breath, approaching the stronghold carefully. It rose up high overhead, its boxy shape seeming out of place in the wild vegetation of the coast.

It looked abandoned, just as it had the first time she’d passed it. Every sense on high alert, she drew near the wall and began to climb. It was steep, not quite a staircase, but she managed to reach the first level with little difficulty. She peered over the edge of the top for a long time before deciding it was safe to cross the wide, open space.

Her heart was pounding as she crouched beside the door. Taking a deep breath, she whispered a word, watching herself fade as her birthright spell of invisibility was put to work. Before she could talk herself out of it, she eased the door open and slipped inside.

It seemed almost too lucky that there was no one guarding the door. Raema supposed that, with Vivec knew how many vampires in the stronghold, they felt comfortable enough to leave the entrance unguarded.

The hall of the stone fortress was silent, dark and damp. She waited a moment, hoping no one heard the door open and shut. When no vampires appeared, she set off down the hall, drawing her dagger.

She rounded a few corners without coming across anyone, and crept into the first room that she found. A single vampire rummaged through a crate, coming up with a smile of satisfaction and a bottle of flin in his hand.

The bottle fell from his nerveless fingers when Raema slid her dagger into his spine. She winced as it shattered loudly on the floor, splattering liquor. The vampire dropped limply, too surprised to cry out, and she finished him with a blow to his temple, feeling bones crunch under her fist. She shuddered, and crouched to wait a moment, wondering if anyone had heard the bottle breaking.

When no one appeared, she left the dead vampire sprawled on the floor and cautiously continued on her way down the hall. The next entrance she came across led into a large, columned room, and it was teeming with vampires. Silently, she crouched in a corner, watching unseen. It appeared to be the vampires' main gathering place; she watched as they came and went, directing slaves who carried crates and sacks of supplies, or clustering around a table on which a large map was laid out. Raema looked carefully for Raxle Berne. She had never seen the Ancient, but Assurjan had described him... it wasn't until she crept from her corner and rounded a decorative screen that she found him, a tall, imposing Imperial clad in Netch leather. He was conferring with a woman in glittering glass armor, whose burgundy hair framed a pale face....

 _Volrina Quarra!_ Raema was unable to keep from grinning. Both Ancients, such a perfect opportunity... but how to take advantage of it? How close could she get to the Ancients before they recognized her presence?

 _Only one way to find out_ , she thought. Too excited to be frightened now, she advanced slowly, placing each foot with as much care as possible, calling on her Wood Elven heritage to move silently across the room. They were a good twenty or thirty paces away; she had made it halfway to the Ancients when, with the sheerest bad luck, a passing vampire brushed into her unseen body.

She froze, holding her breath. The startled undead did a double take, staring directly at her. With that, the fragile illusion was shattered. He snarled savagely, and Raema saw Raxle's head snap around at the sound, before the nearest vampire crashed into her, bearing her to the ground. Shouts erupted all around her; she could hear the Ancients barking orders as she struggled with her attacker. He snapped fangs at her, barely held at arm's length.

Frantically, Raema glanced to her side; the others were closing the distance across the room with alarming speed. Almost without thought, her hand abandoned its place where it held the vampire at bay. Suddenly freed, he descended upon her, mouth gaping, reaching for her throat. Her fist closed around Berandise's amulet. With a flare of bluish light, her attacker, the other vampires, and the stronghold vanished from around her.

One gasping instant later, a sky darkening into late afternoon appeared above her. Raema still lay on her back; she sat up carefully, shaking her head to dispel the confusion that came with relocation spells.

Her heart was pounding. She shuddered, trying to shake off the image of the vampire's fangs descending to her neck. A moment later, and....

"You all right, Sera?" Startled, she was on her feet in an instant, sword half-drawn, but it was only an Imperial soldier, pausing on his patrol to gaze at her in concern.

"Yes- yes. I'm fine. Thank you." She managed, only now realizing that the spell had transported her back to Gnisis, outside the gates of tiny Fort Darius.

The Legionnaire was staring oddly at her now, as if trying to decide why she looked familiar. Hastily, Raema turned her head away, ostensibly adjusting her weapon and brushing dirt from her clothing. After a moment, the soldier continued on his way, with a last skeptical glance over his shoulder.

When he disappeared behind the nearby hill, Raema breathed a sigh of relief. _Two close calls in less than a minute_...

Glancing at the descending sun, she bit her lip in indecision, wondering the best course of action. She certainly hadn't dealt any severe damage to Berne or the other clans... _Only one dead vampire, with three more clans' worth still lurking in Andasreth,_ she thought, disappointed. _Hardly enough to deter them._ And sundown was not very far off; she may as well have not entered the stronghold at all, for all the good she had done. Come sunset, Berne would lead his undead followers to Juraene and overwhelm the smaller clan.

 _Assurjan...._ she thought worriedly. He was devastating in combat, she had seen that firsthand- but against three entire clans and their Ancients? He would be captured, or worse....

_Unless.... I could go back._

He had told her not to return after making use of the amulet. _"Whether you have killed Raxle Berne himself or no one at all"_ , he had said. She had promised....

But if she didn't go, if she simply headed south to find the clan and let their enemies catch them, she would be fighting them anyway. In an all-out battle, Juraene clan would be destroyed. But if she could only sneak into the stronghold once more before they departed... _I only need to get Raxle,_ she told herself. _Just one vampire. Just take him out, and their alliance will fall apart. Even if Quarra and Aundae have reason to continue without his partnership, they will be too caught up in dealing with his leaderless vampires to chase us down..._

 _Forgive me, Assurjan,_ she thought. _But this could save all our lives._ And for the second time that day, she took off for Andasreth at a run.

* * *

It was still light out when she returned to the stronghold. Raema crouched behind a tree to catch her breath and survey the area. With the sunlight still slanting through the trees, there was no more sign of an outdoor guard than she had seen the first time. It took just as little effort for her to slip into the fortress unseen.

Inside, though, she was met with a far more frenetic scene than the last time. The interior of the stronghold bustled with activity, vampires of all different backgrounds hurrying past her invisible form. She could see glimpses of the fault lines between clans as she slipped down the hallway; here an Altmer Aundae glared at a Nord Quarra vampire in passing, there an Imperial Berne sneered at a pair of High Elves. But for all the tension between the clans, they were still civil to one another, at least as civil as vampires could be. That was a bad sign, but she wondered if there might be a way to exploit the underlying tensions for Juraene's benefit.

She also began to wonder if all the heightened activity in the stronghold was because they knew that a spy had entered the lair earlier. Flattening her back against the wall, she squeezed past a pair of slaves carrying a heavy chest between them. She froze when a passing vampire seemed to look directly at her, but he only snarled at the slaves to hurry as he passed them. Raema let out the breath she'd been holding, and glanced at her ring that now provided her concealment. The enchantment was strong, but it would not last forever; she had to hurry.

She rounded a corner, and found the same room that Raxle had inhabited earlier. It was even more of a hub of activity than it had been before; she hesitated outside the entrance, afraid to enter and be discovered once again by a vampire simply bumping into her.

But she could see Raxle, in the center of the room, gesturing at the map that was spread across the table, deep in conversation with Volrina Quarra. _All I have to do is get him,_ she told herself. She could feel her hands shaking, and clasped them together, trying to calm herself. _Just one good blow, like the vampire from before, just slip the knife into his spine, and he's gone._

Shaking off the last of her hesitation, she drew her dagger silently and sneaked into the room.

Just two steps past the door, hands caught her arms from behind, locking them immobile. "Back for more, s'wit?" snarled a High Elven voice in her ear. Every head in the room whipped around to stare at the two of them. She cursed and hooked her leg around her attacker's, throwing her body weight backward. The vampire hit the floor hard, with Raema on top; he grunted in surprise, loosening his grip, and Raema scrambled free. Her hand went for the amulet as she danced away from his reaching arms.

Raxle snarled. "Don't let her-"

An invisible wall slammed into Raema; she felt herself fly backwards, until her back crashed into a wall that was all too real. Stunned, she slumped against the stones, coughing, barely able to stand up, much less reach for the amulet.

Another Altmer vampire appeared before her, and Raema realized numbly that it had to be Dhaunayne, the Ancient of Aundae clan. "You will need more than these petty invisibility tricks to get past my mages, Hand," the woman hissed. "Did you really think you could fool us twice?" She waved her fingers, and the amulet burst into flames where it hung against Raema's chest. Raema cried out, but it was already gone, disintegrated in a flash of blue fire, leaving only the leather cord.

Raema lunged at the Ancient desperately; once again, that unseen force knocked her aside. Unable to catch herself, she sprawled on the floor, watching helplessly as her dagger was pried from her fingers by the Ancient's magic and sent skidding across the room.

Then the others were on her, hands clutching her arms, strong enough to hurt, fisting handfuls of her tunic and dragging her to her feet. Raema struggled in a spasm of panic, but there were too many with their hands on her.

The room fell silent; a glance up made her freeze, made her heart stutter and drop to her feet. Raxle Berne approached from the far side of the room. His armor creaked softly as he moved; it was the only sound in the room, and it made Raema flinch. A tiny, rational part of her mind, untouched by fear, discovered why she was so terrified of this vampire, as she had never been of Assurjan, not even in the first moments of their meeting. Before, she had been only a slave, responsible for no one and nothing, not even her own self. But now, the fates of Assurjan and the entire clan rested on her, in Berne's hands.

The thought of Assurjan bolstered her resolve. She pushed the fear away, until it occupied only a corner instead of running rampant within her. Forcing herself to stand up straight, she eyed Raxle as he approached, gauging distance. _Just a little closer_...

Her foot lashed out, fast as lightning, before the vampires could jerk her back. A hairsbreadth quicker, Raxle swept the kick aside, and his gauntleted fist smashed into her face.

Lights exploded behind her eyes, flaring and fading. The pain followed a moment later as consciousness returned with reluctance. She was sagging in her captors' grip, staring at a puddle of someone's blood on the ground. _Who is letting that go to waste_? she wondered groggily.

The vampires hauled her to her feet, wrenching her shoulders. A blurry Raxle came into view; she squinted, and realized that one eye wasn't working properly. Something warm and wet was trickling down the side of her face.

The Ancient clenched a fistful of dark hair and jerked Raema's head backwards, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes flicked to her throat, open and exposed... when he looked back at her face, they glowed.

"This can be painful, Raema... or _very_ painful. I will leave it as your choice. Where is Juraene clan going?"

Foggily, Raema knew that there was another vampire who had offered her a choice, a long time ago. Her memory refused to relinquish details, but she knew that _this_ vampire would get nothing from her.

Her mouth worked for a moment; she seemed to have forgotten how to speak. Then, thickly, she managed, "Go to Oblivion."

The corner of Raxle's mouth curled into a cruel smile, and his eyes flared brighter. "So be it," he murmured, and moved closer.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Darkness surrounded her, filled her. She felt herself flailing in the dark, panicking. She couldn't see, she couldn't _breathe_ \--

Someone cried out, and it was herself, waking. She lurched upright and was immediately sick, leaning over as her body was wracked with dry heaves. It went on for a long time, until she fell again into a nightmare that claimed her mind with clenched talons and would not release her.

For all she could tell, it might have been minutes or days before awareness returned. She lay on cold stone, motionless, and blinked repeatedly. She could see nothing more with her eyes open than with them closed; her first coherent thought was, _I'm blind._

 _...Or... perhaps there is no light._ Her left eye certainly hurt enough to have been blinded, she realized. Sensation was returning in painful pinpricks, but emotions were lagging behind. _Shock_ , she thought numbly. But her eye couldn't have been blinded; she had still been able to see.... hadn't she? She could not remember, now; her last memory was of stealing into Berne's lair, a second time, after she had promised Assurjan she wouldn't. _Stupid._

She moved, taking note of each new pain that presented itself as she struggled to her feet. Her neck was tight and sore. When she put out a hand for purchase in the dark, hot pains burst in her shoulder, but she found a wall to brace herself against. Her legs were nearly her undoing; they wobbled unsteadily, threatening to spill her back to the floor if she moved too quickly. Raema leaned on the wall and managed to draw herself upright.

Once she was standing, vertigo threatened to overwhelm her. She clung desperately to the wall in the darkness, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to pass.

When she had recovered, she kept a hand on the wall and took a few tentative, limping steps, with her other hand stretched out in front of her. It took an agonizingly long time for her to travel the perimeter of the room. Her explorations revealed that she was in a cell of sorts, empty, with a heavy wooden door set into the stone wall, and securely locked from the outside. She ran her hands over it until her fingers felt raw, searching in vain for an opening, before continuing her journey around the room. The whole thing was not ten paces square, but by the time she guessed she was back at her starting point, her legs trembled with exhaustion. She leaned her back against the wall and reached up to feel gingerly at her injured eye. The whole side of her face- eyebrow, cheekbone, and all- were sore and swollen, but not badly. Her eye was open. Some time must have passed since she was hit.

Her mouth; something was wrong with her mouth. She parted her lips, and her fingertips brushed against teeth- the wrong teeth, impossibly long and dagger-sharp, top and bottom.

Emotions chose that moment to return with staggering force. _Oh gods, oh gods!_ She thought wildly, letting herself slide down the wall to huddle in a broken mess. Assurjan had been right, and now she was one of _them_. An undead, unholy abomination, a bloodsucking devourer of life... and she belonged to Raxle Berne, Assurjan's enemy since longer than she'd been alive. This frightened her more than the fact that she was a vampire at all. Berne certainly had no reason to deal mercifully with her... and now that she was effectively his slave, he need only to command it, and Assurjan would be betrayed, by her own doing. Despair washed over her in a black cloud that brought only more nightmares.

* * *

 

Once again, on waking, she had no idea how much time had passed. It was still the same darkness, cool and damp, and her body still ached. Her mind felt clearer, except that she could feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing at her temples. Forcing herself to make another hobbling circuit around the cell, she learned nothing new, and huddled herself into a corner, mind racing. For all the good it would do her, she determined to resist Raxle Berne's commands as well as she was able... but from what she remembered of Assurjan's words, she would be compelled to do whatever Raxle wished. She would have to escape at the first opportunity, find a way to warn Juraene clan.

She waited and schemed in the dark for a long, long time. At some point she became aware of a gnawing hunger... and when she realized she craved blood, nausea threatened again. She managed not to be sick, and strove to ignore the need that grew within her.

She had nearly given up her expectant waiting, resigning herself to wasting away forgotten, when she heard a noise: a clank, a squeal of hinges. It was the first noise that she'd not made herself, and it was almost unbearably loud. Then voices, and a shaft of light, thank Vivec, though it was nearly enough to blind her after the absolute darkness. Raema scrambled up, determined to meet her captors on her feet.

Raxle Berne, and another vampire she didn't recognize, entered cautiously. The stranger carried a lantern; Raema squinted past its unbearably bright light, keeping her watery eyes on the Ancient. The two stopped at a careful distance from her.

Raxle grinned broadly. "Ah, so you've awakened," he said. "And a charming vampire you make, young blood. I trust your stay has been... comfortable?"

Raema said nothing, trying to balance on her unsteady legs and glaring at the Ancient.

He was unperturbed. "Come now, no one likes a sullen n'wah. Now, my dear Raema... tell me, where is Assurjan taking Juraene clan?" His conversational tone gave no hint that he was commanding her to betray her own.

Raema clamped her mouth shut and glared at him challengingly. The Ancient's face darkened. "Tell me!"

She raised her chin, and spat. He was too far away, and it landed at his feet, but her message was clear.

The other vampire darted forward, startling her enough that she wavered precariously, stumbling a little. He only stared intently at her for a moment before retreating. "My lord," he said disgustedly. "She is.... not Berne. She's Juraene."

The dark room wheeled around her. She heard Raxle muttering, "Assurjan, you clever bastard..." She must have looked as stricken as she felt, for he glanced at her and gave a humorless, disbelieving laugh.

"You mean you didn't know?" he asked incredulously. "This is too perfect... he didn't trust his own Hand enough not to be captured, not enough to even _tell_ you he infected you. And we all thought he was so trusting of his little Hand..."

Raema sank to her knees, shaking. _Assurjan_ had done this to her? When would he have-

And then it hit her. That last night, when they had finally made use of the bed in the sleepless Ancient's room.... he would have had ample time, either during their lovemaking or afterward, while she slept at his side, feeling truly safe for the first time since she'd become a slave- _Oh, gods!_

Raxle was speaking, to the other vampire. "... not a hostage. She's too valuable to Assurjan. I won't risk leaving her alive to get back to him."

He glanced at her. "My apologies, Raema. You might have had a place of honor in Berne clan, if your master hadn't fouled things. I suppose it was not meant to be. Unfortunately, you are worth nothing to me now."

Without waiting for her reply, he turned to the man at his side. "Enjoy yourself," he said with a cold smile. "But don't take too long. Catch up when you're finished." The junior vampire bowed his head in assent as the Ancient left, then turned hungry eyes on Raema.

Still on the floor, she scrambled backwards as he approached her. His eyes glittered with a cold light, and a cruel smile twisted his lips, showing fangs. Raema backed away until her shoulder blades met the stone corner of the cell.

Trying desperately not to give in to panic, she kept her eyes on him as he crossed the distance between them. He had to lunge forward and down to reach her where she lay on the floor; she snapped her foot up to meet him as he moved, landing a solid blow between his legs. Air left his lungs in a painful gasp, and he fell the rest of the way, trapping her in the corner with vampire strength. His backhanded blow knocked her head aside, and dizzy blackness swamped over her as her temple hit the wall.

 _No!_ she thought desperately, clawing her way back to consciousness. She was on her back in the dim cell; the vampire loomed over her, his eyes glowing, hands working. She struggled, weak from her injuries and lack of sustenance. He didn't even notice. In that terrible, panic-stricken moment, her Elven inhibitions fled, and her new vampire instincts took over. He had braced himself over her on one hand, to fumble at his clothes with the other. As hard as she could, she drove her hand into the bend of his elbow. His arm collapsed, dropping him onto her, and she sank her teeth into his neck with a snarl. Hot, thick blood gushed into her mouth, almost too much, almost choking her. She swallowed, wanting to gag, wanting _more_.... Enraged, the other vampire let out a shout, jerking away. She felt his flesh tear between her fangs as he broke free.

The Berne vampire scuttled away, clambering to his feet. The bloodlust that filled Raema was nowhere near satiation, and now she was fueled with the strength that his blood had lent her. In one fluid movement, she launched herself across the cell, tackling him. Without her conscious thought, the spell to feed by touch was already making her hands glow before he hit the floor. She bit deep into the pulse just below his jaw, feeding by both blood and by touch, and then he was dead, truly dead, impossibly quickly. Raema hunched on all fours over the corpse, letting the spell fade. _Vivec help me_ , she thought, staring horrified at her handiwork as the mad need for blood faded. Bile rose in her throat, mingling with the taste of blood that clung to her tongue. Then her practicality returned. _Time to be sick later_ , she told herself firmly. _I have to get out of here before someone comes looking for him._

Gingerly she rose to her feet, and realized that her injuries were healed, though her head was still pounding, worse than before. Her shirt clung to her, stained with old and new blood. Forcing back a shudder, she resolutely set her revulsion aside and searched the corpse, finding a small glass dagger and feeling instantly better with a blade in her hand. Snatching up the lantern with her other hand, she crept silently to the door.

Her caution proved unnecessary; the stronghold Berne clan had used as a base was deserted. The only signs she found that anyone had been there at all were a broken spear and the drained corpses of two slaves.... And in the main chamber, a dark stain on the floor. She flinched as memory returned- the blow that had nearly snapped her neck, the crippling fear that had come with certainty of her death.

 _If I'd only known_ , she thought with bitter irony. _I was dead long before they laid hands on me._ She left the room without a second glance and made her way to the first exit she could find. She pushed the door open-

And fell to her knees with a cry, the pressure on her head increasing tenfold, her vision blurring red behind the sunlight that blinded her after the dimness of the stronghold. Every inch of her skin felt scalded, she could feel it sloughing off her bones like meat-

With all her strength, she heaved herself at the door, slamming it shut. Blessedly cool darkness closed around her once more. The weight on her mind eased slowly, until it was again a mere headache, no longer a stake being ground into her skull. She slumped against the wall and felt at her arms, her face. She was still whole... but the memory of the sensation, the illusion of being flayed alive, made her shudder. _How in Oblivion did Assurjan stand it so long when we escaped Moonmoth?_ she wondered.

Assurjan. She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. Every moment that she could remember of that last night played through her head, unbidden. It had been so perfect-- even better than what she had guiltily imagined for so many months. He had known exactly what she needed, had murmured her name with a tenderness she'd never heard from him before. She'd trusted him completely, had allowed herself the luxury of falling asleep in his arms...

And he had cursed her with this unlife, the one thing he had promised since the night they'd met that he would not do. _Bloody, buggering... s'wit!_ she thought furiously, and then utterly shocked herself by bursting into tears.

* * *

 

It was the sudden absence of pain that woke her, as if a weight had been lifted from her mind, a change large enough to startle her awake. Raema rose stiffly, rubbing at her tear-streaked face with a rueful grimace. After a long moment's thought, she tried the door again, more cautiously this time, standing well behind it and opening it only a finger's-width. When no sunlight spilled into the stronghold, she opened it fully and stepped out into the night.

After the stifling air inside, the evening breeze was blessedly cool and fresh on her skin. Raema stood motionless, watching for any vampires who had resurfaced since earlier that day, and trying to decide what to do.

 _I can't go back to him_ , she thought, and that realization hurt more than she cared to admit. _I won't. Especially not like this, when he can command me. And our agreement was broken the instant he infected me. _

Another moment's consideration, and then she was moving, little more than another shadow in the moonlight, seeking the one person on Vvardenfell who could help her.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

The citizens of Vivec were just beginning to stir in the early-morning light, enterprising shop owners heading to their businesses to get an early start on the day's work. Raema clung to the shadows as she moved through the city, pulling her stolen cloak tighter around herself to hide the bloodstains on her shirt. She hadn't realized her ring was missing until halfway to the city, and her birthright of invisibility was already drained, so the best she could do was walk with her head down, hoping her hair hid the most obvious signs of her condition... And steer extra clear of any Ordinators she saw. They had eyes like cliff racers, and she knew they'd show no mercy to an abomination like herself wandering through their holy city.

The pain was growing in her head again, subtly, and she knew enough now to dread what it meant. By the look of the sky, dawn was not far off by the time she slipped, relieved, into the Plaza of Hlaalu Canton.

It was busier under the roof of the city than outside. Raema kept her eyes on the ground and breathed a sigh of relief when she reached Crassius Curio's manor without incident. Steeling herself for the reactions she expected to receive, she pushed open the door.

Curio's Dunmer servant was dusting the bookshelf in the manor's antechamber. She looked up when Raema entered, and let out a frightened squeak. Raema raised her hands in a placating gesture. "I have business with the Councilor," she said. "Please inform him that the Hand of Juraene is waiting."

The woman simply stood there, staring wordlessly. "Now!" Raema snapped, and the servant jumped, hurrying off into the manor without a word.

Left alone in the antechamber, Raema glanced down at herself, and realized how disheveled she looked. _It's a wonder no Ordinators stopped me on general principle,_ she thought ruefully, brushing at the dirt that dusted her cloak. She would have to be a bit more presentable if she was going to convince Curio that she was here on "official" business. She rubbed at her face, hoping she wasn't making it worse, and combed her fingers through her tangled hair. After a moment's thought, she pulled her dagger from beneath the robe and tucked it behind her belt. She wished she still had her sword, but hopefully _any_ visible weapon would remind Curio how little she enjoyed playing his games.

She was starting to grow restless by the time she heard Curio grumbling tiredly as he made his way towards the antechamber. "Lenara, I don't know who you think is out there, but I'm certain it's no vampire. Why would I-" he stopped short as he rounded the corner and caught sight of Raema. The servant raised her eyebrows smugly, and for the first time Raema had ever seen, Curio was speechless.

It didn't last long, however. His practiced charm returned almost immediately, and he turned to Lenara. "A little privacy, if you would, my dear," he murmured, and she retreated obediently.

Crassius turned an appraising gaze on Raema. "Well," he said at last. "I must admit, my dear, this is a turn of events that I never quite expected."

"An unfortunate accident," Raema said smoothly, and managed a reassuring smile. "It will soon be remedied. In the meanwhile... the Ancient requests your help in locating a certain individual in Vivec."

"Of course, I shall assist the clan in whatever capacity I may," Curio agreed easily, but he still hadn't moved. He stood stiffly on the other side of the room, as if he were afraid to come any closer, or to startle her. "Who is this individual?"

Raema found that she rather liked this new, sensible Crassius. "His name is Jole Devan. He's a... mercenary of sorts, and has a home somewhere in the city. And time is of the essence, Councilor."

"Of course," Curio said again. "I shall inquire of my household. Someone will know where to find this Devan, or know someone who does." He glanced at the entrance behind her. "Would you care to wait more comfortably in one of the side chambers? It might be some time before I have any information for you..."

Raema arched an eyebrow at him. "I am perfectly comfortable here, thank you. I suggest you do what you can, quickly, before any more visitors arrive." _Before sunrise,_ she added silently.

Curio pressed his lips together unhappily, and gave a reluctant nod. "Very well. I will send Lenara back with refreshments while you wait." He turned and left the room.

Raema let out a soft sigh of relief and relaxed a bit. She hadn't been sure if Curio would buy her "explanation". He didn't seem quite satisfied with it, but as long as he would tell her where Jole was, it was enough.

A few moments later, the servant returned, hurriedly set down a tray of food and drink on the table farthest away from Raema, and left without a word or a backwards glance. Raema eyed the platter of boiled kwama eggs and crabmeat, trying to decide if she was hungry. Her stomach recoiled in nauseous refusal at the thought, and she turned away quickly.

Many long, silent minutes passed. When Curio finally returned, Raema was tapping her fingers impatiently on the hilt of her dagger, in time with the increasing throbbing in her head. Curio noticed it at once.

"I do apologize for making you wait," he said, and even managed a trace of his old, shifty smile. Apparently he had regained some of his composure while out of sight. "I was able to find out what you needed; a man named Jole Devan lives at St. Delyn Canal, South-two. Is there anything else...?" His tone said that he sincerely hoped not.

"No," Raema told him, and decided to be gracious. "I... appreciate your help. Next time we meet, it will be under less... incriminating circumstances. Have a good day, Councilor." She slipped out the door, noting how relieved he looked to have the vampire out of his manor.

She would have to hurry; sunrise couldn't be more than a quarter of an hour away, maybe less, from the pounding in her head. Walking quickly with head down, she crossed the plaza and went back outside, hurrying down to the water level to catch a boat.

* * *

St. Delyn Canal South-Two turned out to be uncomfortably close to the Temple canton, which happened to be crawling with an uncomfortably large number of Ordinators. Holding her head turned to the side, Raema slipped into the alcove over the door and whispered the simple Open spell that Assurjan had taught her, not bothering to try the handle first. The door swung inward, and she shut it hurriedly behind her. With the shutting of the door the pounding in her head eased somewhat. She dropped immediately into a wary crouch, and resolved not to cut it so close to sunrise again.

Jole's home was little more than a room with an alcove off to the side, which set a small bed apart from the rest of the dwelling. A table, a chest of drawers, some crates and a shelf of books furnished the room.

She was alone; the bed was neatly made, the room dark save for a single candle left lit inside a lantern, almost extinguished. Raema gathered up a few larger candles from the table and lit them from the lantern before it burnt itself out. When the room was bright enough that Jole wouldn't quite feel she was trying to ambush him, Raema sat down to wait.

She didn't have to wait long; perhaps twenty or thirty minutes passed before she saw the door handle turn. There was a pause, as if whoever was on the other side noticed it was unlocked, and then the door swung open to reveal Jole, a dagger in one hand and a throwing star in the other, tensed for an attack. He frowned when he recognized Raema, and then his eyes widened. "Sweet Mother of-"

Raema raised her hands quickly, palms outward. "Please, Jole. I'm not here to attack you. I came to you for help." When he hesitated, she added in a strangled voice, _"Please_ shut the door?"

Jole blinked, flustered. "Right," he muttered, and stepped inside. Raema let out a shuddering sigh as the door closed once more, shutting out the early morning glare.

The Redguard took a few more steps, never taking his eyes off her. "You'll forgive me for being a bit... cautious," he said. "I'm not accustomed to finding a vampire in my home. Usually it's the other way around."

"I know." Raema relaxed slowly, lowering her hands. "I swear to you, Jole, I've come only for your help. You're the only... _former_ vampire that I've ever met. Please..."

Jole tucked the throwing star back behind his belt, sheathed the dagger, though he kept his hand on the hilt, and leaned back against the wall in an imitation of nonchalance. "I can't truly say _I told you so_ , Raema, but.... A mortal working for vampires? This was bound to happen sooner or later. And I'm not really sure what good I can do."

She scowled. He had a point, she had to admit. But... "It shouldn't have happened _this_ way," she said, and her voice came out bitter. Jole regarded her silently for a moment, and something in her face or voice must have convinced him. Abruptly, he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, eyes intent on hers. "Alright," he said. "I'll do what I can, Raema. I can't promise you that we'll get you cured, but I'll do my best.

"But I want to know _everything._ "

So she told him everything, from the stormy night that Assurjan had found her at the slave trader in Suran, to that very morning when she'd gotten Jole's address from Curio. She left out only the parts about the growing romance between her and Assurjan, saying only that he was the one vampire from Juraene who'd had the chance to turn her without her knowing. Jole listened intently, occasionally breaking in to ask a question, but mostly content to let her speak.

As the tale wound to an end, she felt better than she had in a long time, her new undead status not withstanding. No one outside of the clan - or even inside it - had known as much of her life, her emotions and actions, as she'd just told Jole. The weight of her doubts, her guilt, and Assurjan's betrayal were lifted from her with each word she spoke, until she felt lightened, freed. She fell silent and sat back in her chair to watch Jole's reaction to her tale.

The Redguard shook his head, a half-smile quirking his lips. "Gods," he was all he said, almost disbelievingly. His fingers drummed on the tabletop as he sat deep in thought. Raema waited.

Finally, he raised his eyes to hers. "I'm sorry," he said. It wasn't what she had expected. "I'm sorry that you had to... get involved in such a mess. You can't have known what you were getting into.... And vampires are not something that _anyone_ should be involved in."

"It's not your fault," Raema said, embarrassed. "Just... is there anything? Anything that I can do...?"

Jole pushed himself away from the table abruptly. "Maybe," he mused, pacing back and forth. "I'll need a few books. I don't have them here, but I can get them from a friend of mine, in the Foreign Quarter. And he might point me towards some other places; I may be gone for a while. You'll stay here, of course, there's plenty of things to read, and...." He began gathering his cloak and a bag, presumably for the aforementioned books, then paused as if a thought had occurred to him. He turned to look at her. "Do you need to feed?" He asked bluntly.

Raema tensed; his words brought back a flood of memories. _The Berne vampire_ _dying under her hands, the horrible ecstasy as his blood filled her mouth in a rush of liquid heat, liquid strength that revived and healed and empowered her in a way that no restorative potion could possibly imitate...._

"No," she said, shaking her head sharply. "Not.... not yet."

Jole looked doubtful, but accepted her answer. "There's bread and cheese in the cupboard, and- well, you're probably not ready for solid food yet, I'm guessing?"

Raema shook her head again, sure she was turning some shade of green.

"That will pass, eventually," he told her. "It won't do you much good to eat it, but it's something. Try to drink some water, at least. I'll be back by sundown."

"All right," she said, reluctant to see him go. He gave her a reassuring grin, a smile she remembered from their earlier meetings, and slipped out the door, careful not to open it too widely.

* * *

Just as they had done in every shelter since the clan had left the lair, the vampires had used a few folding screens to separate a small corner in the rear of the cave, so that the Ancient might have a bit of privacy. It was no more than five paces square, if that, but it was enough. Assurjan sat cross-legged on a few blankets laid over the ground, staring at an unrolled map without really seeing it. He knew well enough where the clan was resting today, and they should reach Telasero by the next dawn. It was a good thing; this was the fourth day since Juraene clan had fled the lair. Traveling alone, or with other vampires, Assurjan could have reached the stronghold two days ago, but the slaves slowed the clan, burdened by the provisions they carried, weakened by feeding the vampires, and simply unable to move as quickly as the undead. Four nights of travel without incident was better than he had hoped for, though, and if their luck held, it would only take one more before they reached safety. His vampires were growing more and more nervous with each night in the open, jumpy and skittish like edgy guars.

It didn't help matters that the whole clan knew his Hand was gone, either. Only a few of the Elders knew where she had gone, and why; but none of them knew the whole truth of what he had done. The memory clawed painfully, guiltily, at his heart. If she had survived the mission to delay the other clans, she would have been turned by now, a true member of Juraene clan. He desperately hoped that she had escaped them quickly, had taken a healing potion or some such aid as a precaution, and was making her way to him, still living. _But she would have found me by now, if that were the case,_ he thought.

He knew, from his dream, that she would have returned undead regardless, and yet he still hoped. At least he had saved her from the bloodline of the other clans. If it had been Raxle who'd turned her... He refused to think about it. At least this way, he had not lost her completely.

The thought was hollow, comfortless. Assurjan scowled unseeing at the map before him. She was still his, and his actions had given her a better chance of success, but he doubted she would see it that way. On the very night that she had shown how much her trust in him had grown, he'd shattered it utterly. Wherever she was now, she would have realized the truth of what he had done, and would be _living_ his betrayal...

"My lord?" Talintus' rough voice cut through his thoughts. "It's nearly sundown. Do we have permission to pack up the screens?"

Assurjan glanced up at the other vampire, happy to be distracted from his thoughts. "Yes. We will move immediately after sunset, as usual." He rolled up the map and rose to his feet while Talintus directed a few slaves to dismantle the private corner. Wherever Raema was, she was more than capable of taking care of herself, and he had the responsibility of an entire clan to worry about--or so he tried to convince himself.

* * *

The entrance to Juraene clan's lair was well hidden, Raxle grudgingly admitted to himself. Even Reberio, the vampire who'd found it in the first place, had a hard time locating it again, and even though Raxle knew where it was, now, his eyes still took a few moments to truly see it. There was a subtle but effective enchantment on the stone door, so that his eyes kept sliding past without noticing it. It was no wonder it had taken them so long to find Assurjan's little stronghold. _Merely another reminder to be wary of his abilities._ Even before his turning, the Ashlander had been a powerful mage; by now, he would have had ample time to improve even more. Raxle would have to be careful.

It was just after full dark; the vampires had spent the twilight hours after sunset scouting the island for any trail left by Juraene clan. Assurjan had been long gone from his lair, of course; Raxle had known he would be. What frustrated him, and the other Ancients, was that Assurjan and his clan seemed to have disappeared altogether. He knew that was impossible, that the fool would be found eventually, but the others were growing more restless after each day that passed without the promised bloodshed.

As he approached the entrance to the lair, Raxle ran his fingers over the hilt of the new sword at his side, and grinned ferally to himself. When they _did_ find the Ashlander, Raxle would enjoy showing the Hand's sword to him, and telling him how she'd died. And how stricken she'd been when she realized the truth; Raxle knew that would hurt the other Ancient most of all. Assurjan had always been more soft-hearted than a vampire ought to be.

The sword also reminded him to wonder where Gergio was. The other vampire was supposed to have caught up to them by now. If the bloody fool had decided to go off and harass another village instead....

 _Never mind,_ he told himself. _There are more important matters to attend to._ He made his way through the empty corridors to the room that he and the other Ancients had claimed as a headquarters of sorts: it appeared to have been Assurjan's library, and was the one room that hadn't been stripped completely bare.

Inside, Dhaunayne Aundae was standing in a corner, feeding from a young slave... feeding by touch, as if the prim High Elf couldn't be bothered with the mess that came with a blood feeding. Raxle rolled his eyes, and sought out the third Ancient. Volrina Quarra was listening to the report of some junior vampire, and her face was twisted in anger. She dismissed the other vampire as Raxle approached, and looked up at him, unable to completely remove the angry expression from her face. "Well? Anything?" she demanded.

"Not yet," Raxle said calmly, setting his helm down on a nearby table. "There are still several scouts out-"

Furious, Volrina swept an entire shelf clear of books with a powerful swipe of her arm and a snarl, her eyes glowing with unsatisfied bloodlust. "Buggering s'wit!" She snapped. "He's a bloody _Ashlander_ , Berne, he knows how to cover a trail. I _told_ you we should have been following him from the moment he left; but you were so sure that little Hand of his would lead you straight to him. Well, that was a wonderful idea, wasn't it? Bloody Oblivion, you'd lose your own head if it wasn't attached-"

Raxle's eyes narrowed. "I'm just about angry enough to take that as a threat, Quarra," he cut her off, coldly. "Control yourself." She subsided unhappily, glaring at him. She was smart enough to know that the last thing anyone wanted was for the three clans to turn on each other. "The night is yet young," Raxle continued. "And our farthest-ranging scouts have not yet had time to return. Be patient."

"I've _been_ patient," Volrina snarled, but quietly. "Between my patience and your poor decisions, Assurjan is getting away from us."

Dhaunayne abruptly released the slave, leaving him wobbling unsteadily in the corner, and made her way towards them. "The Nord has a point, Berne," she said. "We lost precious time while you insisted on waiting for the Bosmer to turn, all for naught. Assurjan could be on a boat bound for the mainland by now."

Volrina let out a distracted snort, her hungry eyes locked on the slave who still stood woozily in the corner. "One can only hope," she said.

"He's not," Raxle retorted, with all the confidence he could muster. He watched Volrina sit down and crook a finger at the slave; the Breton came to her obediently, kneeling before her when she gestured, no trace of fear on his features. Either Dhaunayne had laid a spell upon him, or he had simply given up. They did that, sometimes. Raxle felt his own hunger stirring, and turned away, refusing to indulge it just yet. "He'll be moving too slowly. And I know he won't abandon his clan, the bloody, stubborn fool."

"So you say," Dhaunayne remarked coolly. "Yet I cannot help but wonder if we might have had this entire business over with by now, if not for the delay with his Hand."

 _Bugger it..._ Raxle thought, annoyed. His attention kept being drawn back to the Quarra Ancient. She appeared to have lost interest in the discussion altogether; she was running a fingertip over the slave, tracing the line of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, and the thoughtless n'wah before her even seemed to enjoy it. "We can wonder at might-have-beens all night, Aundae," Raxle said, not bothering to look away this time. Volrina's fingers began to glimmer with a violet light. "But I assure you, it will be more productive to continue our search as we have been." His voice came out fractured, layered over itself in hunger, as he watched Quarra lower her mouth to the slave's in a twisted sort of kiss.

Whatever Aundae had been about to reply, it was interrupted by the disturbance of a younger Berne vampire bursting into the library. "My lord? My ladies...?"

Raxle tore his gaze away from the feeding vampire. "What?" he snapped harshly.

The young blood knelt before the Ancients respectfully. "My lord, we've found him."

Volrina raised her head and smiled a blood-red grin. The slave, overdrawn from providing for two powerful vampires so quickly, slumped before her, dead. "It's about time," Quarra said.

* * *

True to his word, Jole had returned to his home before sundown. Raema had spent the day curled up on Jole's bed, afraid to let herself fall asleep, for all the good it would do her anyway. She had done her very best not to think about Assurjan, but with nothing else to do, it was a losing battle. A part of her hated that she was sitting huddled in the dark room all day, feeling sorry for herself... but now that she had gotten herself to Jole for help, there was little else for her to do until he was ready. So she had waited, mind racing, and when thoughts of blood and feeding began to worm into her mind, she gladly turned to memories of Assurjan instead. Painful as they were, there was less danger in them.

On the bright side, it was getting easier to ignore the pounding daylight headaches. She discovered a trick of pushing them to the back of her awareness, so they were more annoying than nearly-incapacitating. _Thank Vivec for small favors_ , she thought, with a trace of humor.

She glanced at Jole, who sat across the room from her, a pile of books strewn across the table in front of him. He was muttering to himself, deep in thought, leafing through the pages of an old book bound in worn, red leather. Raema tried to keep an image of Assurjan in her head, the last time she'd seen him, sitting up in the bed they'd shared, kissing her one last time before....

But other thoughts kept intruding. _Blood_ , throbbed a hungry voice in her head. _Hot, sweet blood, life for the undead, liquid life, liquid power, spilling from veins in scarlet streams, bloody streams, bloody screams-_

"Raema." Jole's voice cut roughly into her head. He was kneeling in front of her, his dark eyes concerned. "You need to feed."

She looked away. "I'm fine."

He didn't bother to argue the point, but only said, "You can't just go on _not_ feeding, Raema. You haven't fed since yesterday morning with that Berne vampire, have you? You're too new to be starving yourself this way. If you don't feed soon...." He left the sentence unfinished.

Raema refused to look at him, afraid of what he would find in her eyes. "I'll be _fine_ , Jole. I'm not going to...." She couldn't even make herself say it.

"Not going to what? Survive long enough to be cured? Believe me, Raema, I know what you're feeling, I know it's horrible, but.... Oh, bloody Oblivion," he added reluctantly, as if a bad idea had just occurred to him. He reached out and took her hand, laid her fingers on his wrist.

Raema shuddered; she could feel his pulse, blood flowing beneath the skin in a steady rhythm, calling to her with each tiny beat. "You can feed on me," he said in a quiet voice.

Raema's eyes snapped up to meet his. She tried to pull back, but he clamped his other hand down on hers, trapping her wrist between his hands. "Don't," she whispered, pleading. "I might.... I've already killed once, without meaning to. I wouldn't know when to stop."

He gave her a small smile. "Let me worry about that. I've got a little experience in this area myself, you know. It makes sense, Raema. I'm here, I'm willing. And you need-"

Anger flared through her. She twisted her hand free with a sharp jerk. "No!"

"I'd rather have you satisfied now, by me, than driven crazy by hunger later, and do something you'd _truly_ regret. We're going to be traveling for a while, Raema. If you snap and attack me while we're on the road, my life _will_ be in danger, and I will not hesitate to defend myself. Or any innocents that get involved, either. You told me you've done this same thing, for the Ancient... Is it so hard to believe that I'm offering myself the same way?"

His words brought back a vision of that day in the shrine after she and Assurjan had escaped Moonmoth. Foolish and stubborn and a little angry, she had volunteered herself to feed the Ancient, to save her own conscience from having to hunt down his next meal. And she had felt what had happened when he'd fed, had seen him do it on others... seen it happen from her own actions this morning. She couldn't do that to Jole. She let out a shuddering breath, and the hunger retreated, beaten back by her own revulsion for it.

"Jole," she said. "If I do 'snap' while on the road, you have my full permission to do whatever is necessary to stop me. But I _will not_ feed on you." She changed the subject abruptly. "Where are we going?"

The Redguard stared at her for a long, assessing moment, before shaking his head ruefully. "Bal Ur," he said, rising to his feet. "A shrine to Molag Bal. The god may be able to help us, if there's something we can do for him first. It's a start, at least."

Raema swung her feet off the edge of the bed and stood. "Let's go."

* * *

Night in the barren, volcanic region of Molag Amur was a far cry from the lush humidity of the Bitter Coast. The dry, ashy air seemed to suck the moisture straight from one's skin. When the squarish outlines of Telasero rose out of the rocky shadows, gleaming in the moonlight, Assurjan felt some of the weight of worries lift from his shoulders. He caught Talintus by the arm, drawing him aside. "Send some to scout the surrounding area, and bring a few inside to take care of any bandits before the rest of the clan enters. Make haste."

"Aye, my lord," the grizzled Imperial acknowledged, and hurried off to gather some other vampires. Assurjan waited there, watching the surroundings warily as the rest of Juraene clan filed past him. It was a quiet night; not even insects marred the silence, only wind blowing through the rocky outcroppings with breathy moans. He stretched his senses outward, searching. Something flickered across the edge of his mental awareness, and was gone again. He frowned, watching the last of the slaves and a few vampires in the rear straggle up the stairs of the stronghold and disappear within. There was a quiet pause, and Assurjan stood in the darkness, his robe flapping in the wind, waiting.

"Knew I was coming, did you?" The voice sounded out of the shadows, to his right, a voice he knew well.

"Berne," he said. "I felt you approach, yes."

The other Ancient stepped into the silvery moonlight, leather armor creaking softly. "I'm impressed," he said, waving a vague hand at the stronghold. "Moving such a large group of vampires and slaves such a long distance without being found... Impressive," he said again.

Assurjan flicked a glance at the stronghold; all his people seemed to have made it inside, or at least out of sight. His eyes returned to Raxle Berne, and the sword that hung from his hip. "You would know better than I," he replied. "I assume that there is a large force of vampires approaching... though I would have thought that you would move more quickly, unburdened by slaves and provisions for them. Was there a delay of some kind?"

Raxle's mouth twisted in a cruel smile that didn't reach his eyes. He rested his hand on the grip of Raema's sword. "Matter of fact, there _was_ a delay.... some little Bosmer girl was causing trouble. We had to hold her for a few days, keep her from hurting herself, of course. We were all surprised when she woke up a Juraene bloodsucker. That was quite a trick, Assurjan. Guess that bloody Ashlander dream-sight came through for you, eh? Or was it just a coincidence? She was quite hurt by it, you know. I'm fairly certain that nothing _I_ did to her caused any worse wounds than yours."

Assurjan felt his jaw clench, anger burning hot and furious behind his eyes. He forced his voice to remain calm, emotionless. "I did dream that she would be turned. I simply took the necessary precautions to protect myself."

"Did you dream that she'd end up dead?" Raxle asked, harshly.

The fury flared up within him again, a snarling, twisting rage that made his hands tremble. He clenched them into fists, struggling to frame a reply that would not give Raxle the verbal victory he was looking for. Then the rival Ancient's words echoed in his head again, and hope shot through him. He had _not_ dreamt she would die. She was better than that; she would have fought free, found some way to escape. And until he _did_ dream her death, he refused to believe in it. She _had_ to be alive.

He forced himself to shrug. "She served her purpose," he said, faking a lack of interest. It hurt. "Hands can be replaced."

Raxle scowled at him, robbed of his opportunity to gloat. "You've changed," he said. "Once, this would have torn you apart."

"No room for softness in an Ancient," Assurjan said quietly. "You yourself taught me that."

Raxle's lip quirked. "I suppose I did." He nodded in an impression of politeness. "You'll forgive me for going, but I have three clans with which to coordinate a plan of attack. There's a battle coming, you know."

"Of course," Assurjan murmured, and watched the other vampire melt into the night without a sound. He waited a moment or two, his senses searching once more, then turned and strode towards the fortress, keeping any expression from his face. Berne could still be watching from the shadows.

Inside the fortress, things were a confused mess of busy vampires, weary slaves, several corpses, and, oddly, a multitude of red candles. Talintus met him just inside the door. "Some sort of cult, my lord," he explained when Assurjan asked him. "Easily dealt with. Some of the fort is blocked off where a wall caved in, but there's enough room for us, for now."

"Very well. Make sure the cattle are out of the way, and anyone with any spellcasting ability is to speak to you regarding their part in our defenses. I do not think they will attack tonight; they are too far off. That will give you tonight and all day tomorrow to prepare." He saw the confusion in Talintus' eyes, but the Imperial only said, "The others will ask after you, my lord. Where shall I tell them you're going?"

Assurjan met his eyes squarely. "To find my Hand," he said, and shut the door firmly behind him.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

_The god's voice thundered in her head, a deep, rumbling impression of foreign syllables that crashed over one another incoherently. They resounded painfully within the confines of her mind, like hearing a huge bell ringing within arm's reach. Understanding followed an instant later, a gleam of clarity shining through the cacophony as Molag Bal translated his own speech. He spoke of a cure, of a defiant daughter hidden to the north, and of execution. The cold vehemence in his inhuman voice terrified her, even more than his voice itself. If he were to turn that same wrath upon her, she'd be dead._

_Then it was over, and the god's presence left her head, leaving behind a hollow silence. She hung limply in Jole's arms, where he had caught her._

_"Finally... What happened?" He asked, easing her towards the floor. Raema forced herself to stand instead, leaning against him when she found her legs still unsteady. She shook her head a few times, and struggled to form words._

_"His daughter," she managed, after several tries. Her voice sounded weak, thready. "Wants her dead. And an Atronach. In... Dubdilla?"_

_Jole frowned in thought. "Sounds familiar. I'll have to check my map. You alright?"_

_Raema nodded and pushed away, wishing the shrine would stop spinning around her. "Fine. Bloody... I'm fine. We should go."_

That had been hours ago. They should have put several miles between themselves and the shrine by now... except that while Raema had communicated with Molag Bal for what had felt like moments, hours had passed in truth. It had been early morning by the time the god was finished with her, and she and Jole had had to wait in the shrine, sharing company with the indifferent priestess until nightfall.

Now, several hours into the night, they had not traveled nearly as far as she would have liked. They had stopped in a small open area among the black rocks of Molag Amur so that Jole could build a small fire and cook the cliff racer he'd downed with a well-thrown blade. Raema watched him turn the spitted carcass over the fire, and then looked away. The smell of burnt animal flesh was nauseating. Part of her remembered that once, it would have been a pleasant smell... now, the thought of eating meat sickened her, like every other food she thought about.

She stared down at her hands; she couldn't see them trembling, but she knew they were, minutely. She was tired, and weak from going so long without feeding. More than three days had passed since she had drained that Berne vampire in Andasreth. Three days, and she was so tired, so _hungry...._

 _I can make it_ , she thought stubbornly, but without much conviction. _I have to. It shouldn't take us much longer than three more days to reach the cave; once we get out of these rocks, it'll be easy. We just have to move a little faster, that's all._

Three _more_ days. She knew in the back of her mind that she would never last that long. Three more days without feeding, taking on the offspring of a god in her weakened state... and, assuming she succeeded, only Vivec knew how long it would take them to return to Molag Bal for her cure. As for moving faster... she clenched her fists, feeling her fingernails pressing into her palms. _She_ was the main reason they'd been traveling so slowly; weakened as she was, it was a struggle to keep the pace Jole had set. _And it'll only get worse..._

"Don't suppose you want any of this? There's no way I can eat an entire cliff racer by myself," Jole said. Raema grimaced and avoided looking at the meat he was slicing off the spit. Empty stomach not withstanding, that was the _last_ thing she wanted to see.

"No, thank you. Leave the rest here, maybe it'll distract any other racers in the area once we move on," she suggested.

Jole grunted. "Maybe it'll rile some Ashlanders who think they need to hunt down the poachers in their territory." He sat down near the fire, kindly keeping his meal a safe distance from her.

"That, too." Raema picked up a pebble, rolled it absently between her fingers and tossed it towards the fire. Something pressed fleetingly against the edges of her mind, like the reflection of a thought, something that she was supposed to remember. She frowned, but it was gone just as quickly.

Noting her expression, the Redguard said around a mouthful of cliff racer, "You alright?"

Raema opened her mouth to reply, and stopped. It was back, more insistent, a pressure against her thoughts, almost like her daylight headaches. This was no physical pain, though... and there was something _familiar_ about it.

Jole felt it, too, staring at her as he set down his meal slowly. "Raema," he began warningly, reaching for his dagger.

Assurjan stepped into the circle of firelight, seeming to materialize out of the shadows. Raema leapt to her feet and Jole did the same, bounding up with his dagger in one hand and a throwing star in the other.

The Ancient's eyes flicked to Jole, and then settled back on Raema. The corners of his lips turned upward in a hint of a smile, a smile of... relief? She swallowed. "What... What are you doing here?" She asked, biting off a habitual "my lord" at the end. _I will_ not _call him that!_

Assurjan raised his eyebrows. "I have been searching for my Hand," he said, ignoring Jole's disbelieving snort. "There are some things that must be said."

Raema bit her lip. She did not want to talk to him. _Don't want him to see me like this._ The Ancient looked back at Jole. "Would you kindly excuse us, Ser Devan?" His voice was perfectly reasonable and polite. Jole barked a short, humorless laugh.

"So you can compel her to go back with you, when she's too weak to resist you? I don't think so, unholy one."

"Compulsion is not my intent," Assurjan said patiently. "If it were, I would already have ordered her to kill you." He turned back to her. "I give you my word, Raema, I wish only to speak to you, no more."

 _And we know how much your word is worth_ , she thought with a flash of anger. But she supposed he was right; if he intended to force her into anything, he would have done so already. She nodded to the Redguard. "It's fine, Jole. Finish your meal. I'll be back soon." She didn't wait to see if he listened. Assurjan turned to fade into the shadows between the rocks, and she followed.

He stopped after a minute or two, turning to face her. There was no moon that night, but starlight cast a faint glimmer on his skin. He looked tired, and worried, but his voice was warm when he spoke. "Raema... I had feared you were dead..." He raised a hand, as if to stroke her cheek.

Raema stepped back, out of reach. "I _am_ dead!" she snapped.

He let his hand drop, falling silent. He looked as if he was deciding which of his thoughts to voice. Finally, he said, "It was necessary, Raema. If-"

" _Necessary_? Bloody Oblivion, Assurjan, I was nearly killed when they realized I wasn't a Berne vampire. You couldn't have _warned_ me? You just let me go, knowing that this would happen? And to do it while we were-"

"Given the choices," he broke in, his voice quiet, "I chose the best I could. Perhaps you forget that I used to be a member of Berne clan. I would sooner kill you myself than subject you to that fate."

"Well, that's exactly what you did, isn't it?" She replied, but she felt her anger fading. There was a ring of truth to his words, and she realized, to her own faint disappointment, that she believed him. It had been easier to be angry when she hadn't had to see him stand before her, apologetic.

She let out a long breath. "What's happening with the clan? Did you make it to Nchardumz?"

He shook his head. "Plans were changed. We have taken residence in Telasero; it is more defensible than the Dwemer ruins." He glanced past her, toward the south. "They may be under attack, even now."

Raema's jaw dropped. "Then what in Vivec's name are you doing _here_?"

The corner of his mouth quirked into another almost-smile. "Searching for my Hand," he repeated.

Raema turned away, shaking her head, unsure what to think of this. _Juraene's under siege, and he leaves them to search for me?_ "I'm not your Hand anymore, Assurjan," she pointed out. "I _can't_ be. I'm a vampire."

"A technicality," Assurjan said dismissively. "I assume that you and the Redguard are on your way to find a cure."

"We're going to Dubdilla, in the Grazelands. An errand for Molag Bal. Then we have to return to him, for the cure." She rubbed at her temple. Even thinking about how far they had to go made her feel tired.

The Ancient raised an eyebrow. "The Grazelands? That is a long way, Raema. You will not make it, if you do not feed."

"I _know_."

He stared at her for a moment, an unreadable expression in his pale eyes. Then he took a step closer. "I do not wish for you to fail, Raema," he murmured softly. "Allow me to return a favor you once did me."

Raema blinked. He was offering to feed her? She turned away before he could see the hunger on her face. "I've already fed once, and it was more than enough. I'm not-"

He caught her arm, pulled her back to face him. His hand was cool against her skin. "Was it? Raema, an Ancient and some Elders can go for several days without feeding, but you have been a vampire for less than a week. You are starving yourself."

Stubbornly, she glared up at him. "I don't need-"

"I cannot offer you blood. I will need my strength for the nights ahead. But power, Raema... I am an Ancient. You can take enough to sate you for days, and I will still have strength enough to defend the clan." He pulled her a step closer, and to her surprise, she didn't resist. "Do not refuse this, Raema."

Her mind raced, echoing his words to herself. If she fed on Jole, would it be the same, enough to keep her satisfied for days? Or would she have to do it again, and again? The chance to feed once, and only once, stood in front of her, waiting. She gazed up at Assurjan. She wanted to kiss him, wanted to trail her lips down his neck and sink her fangs into his skin... _Gods..._ she could _see_ the pulse at his throat, a lazy flicker where blood throbbed beneath his skin. The hunger flared in her again, stronger than ever, and she knew she would give in.

She let out a shuddering breath and took one more step closer, laying her free hand on his chest. She couldn't have told how the spell worked; it happened as it did before, without her conscious thought, as if it worked without her direction at all. Her hand began to glimmer faintly, illuminating them both. Assurjan's grip on her other wrist tightened, and his eyes narrowed, but he showed no other reaction as his power flooded into her.

She felt better immediately, as the bone-deep weariness and gnawing hunger within her receded. The Ancient's strength was like a gasp of cool air filling her lungs, a draught of chilled wine that spilled into her stomach and sated her thirst. And like wine, it threatened to do strange things to her head if she took too much, but it was so _good_....

Abruptly, it stopped. Her hand had been pulled away from his chest, held in an iron grip that matched the other. Frustrated, she snarled, straining without thought to free herself, to touch him and drink in more of him.

"Raema." His voice, low and patient, cut through the need that drove her. She relaxed, drawing in a shaky breath.

"Too much can kill you as easily as too little," he warned her, his eyes steady on her own. "You are well?"

She nodded, relaxing her arms. After a moment, he let her go. She stared at the ground, feeling the new vigor coursing through her body. She felt wonderful, as if she had just awakened from three days' sleep. She wanted to run, to feel her muscles working, to put this new energy to good use. She felt more _alive_ than she had since...

She glanced up at Assurjan, glad he couldn't see her blushing in the darkness, and didn't allow herself to finish that last thought. "Thank you."

"I should go," he said. "You and the Redguard need to be on your way." He glanced southward again. "And I need to be with my clan."

"Come with me," Raema blurted without thinking. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "It... it can't be that difficult for Molag Bal to cure two vampires instead of just one."

Assurjan was silent for a long, long moment. An expression that might have been longing flickered over his face; Raema almost missed it in the darkness. "...I cannot," he said finally. "I am responsible for the vampires of my bloodline. They are my people, and they have been cursed to this unlife by my own actions, by my very existence. I will not leave them unprotected, to be slaughtered by Berne and the others so that I can be cured. I have been gone too long, already."

Raema nodded reluctantly. "I know. But I had to ask."

He took a step backwards and drew his cloak about himself, preparing to leave. "Assuming we survive the days ahead, you can describe to me the experience of being cured." He smiled. "I would be very interested to hear of it."

Raema blinked. "Wait a moment," she said, feeling a flash of her old anger. "You expect me to return to the clan when this is over? After what you've done?"

"I do not recall releasing you from your duties, Raema." His voice took on a hint of that dangerous edge that she knew so well. It sent a shiver down her spine, and it angered her more that it still affected her so.

"I think our bargain was bloody well broken when I woke up with fangs," she snapped.

"Our bargain made no mention of you becoming a vampire. I do not release you," he repeated calmly. Then he added, "Though you may be freed in any case, by the time you are cured. The three clans do have quite an advantage against me."

 _That_ thought had an uncomfortable ring of truth to it. Raema frowned. What would happen to Assurjan, if Juraene clan fell? It was not something she wanted to consider. And what would happen to her? Sooner or later, Berne would learn that she still lived, and he would not let that go on for very long. She sighed, and opened her mouth to reply, but Assurjan was already gone.

* * *

She and Jole had traveled in near silence for the rest of that night. She didn't know if Jole was trying to avoid drawing the Ashlanders' attention to them, or if he simply sensed her reluctance to talk. Either way, the silence had suited her mood. They moved more quickly now, and had covered a lot of ground by the time dawn broke.

They took shelter for the day in a tiny cave at the very edge of the Grazelands. Jole slept for a few hours, stretched out on the ground, while Raema alternated between pacing back and forth or sitting and staring at the single candle they'd lit, while her thoughts raced. The power she'd absorbed from Assurjan still coursed through her, making it nearly impossible for her to sit still for very long. No longer fogged with bloodthirst, her mind worked furiously. Thoughts raced through her head, everything from how she was going to kill the daughter of a god, to whether Crassius Curio would dare openly send aid to Juraene if she asked him.

Though she did her best to avoid thinking about Assurjan, he kept intruding into her thoughts, bringing a confused tangle of worry, anger, and other emotions she did not particularly care to sort out. She didn't _want_ to worry about him, _or_ the clan... but they were the closest thing to family that she'd ever had. She realized, resigned, that even if he _had_ formally released her, she couldn't just leave the clan to their fate. It might be futile, but she would stand with them... _And if I'm too late, well... there'll be_ two _vampire hunters on this island, and Berne's days will be numbered._ The ferocity of her own commitment surprised her. _It's only for the sake of the clan,_ she told herself firmly. And again, every time Assurjan's image invaded her thoughts.

...Until minutes from sundown, when Jole awoke. "You're going back to him, aren't you?" he asked, from where he lay on his side, dark eyes catching glints of the dim candlelight.

Raema started; she hadn't known he was awake. "Not to _him_ ," she replied, and winced at how defensive she sounded. "I have a responsibility to the clan." It was nearly the same thing Assurjan had told her earlier, she realized with grim amusement.

Jole laughed softly and sat up, crossing his legs. Raema frowned at him. "What's funny?"

"You." The Redguard stretched lazily, arms extended over his head, and grinned smugly. "I saw the way you looked at him, despite everything. You're bloody well in love with him."

His words hit her like a blow, like a sword thrust into her abdomen. She blinked. "That's... ridiculous."

He let the grin fade, eyeing her intently. "It is, isn't it? Probably the most ridiculous thing I've seen you do. You can’t fall in love with a vampire, Raema. Vampires don't love you back. They hate, they hunger and they kill, but they don't love."

She threw a pebble at him. "It may have escaped your notice, Jole, but _I_ am a vampire," she pointed out. "So explain to me again how I'm in love with anyone?"

"You're still a young blood," he said seriously. "Give it a year or two, a few brutal feedings to bring out your savage side, some time to truly accept the fact that you are undead, and it'll change you. The notion of love becomes just another foolish mortal perception, like honor or mercy, and you have no need of any of them." He hesitated, then met her eyes evenly. "Assurjan is young for an Ancient, but he has been a vampire longer than your life and mine together, Raema."

The cold steel of his words twisted and withdrew, leaving a hole deep inside her. She hid it as best she could, standing abruptly and brushing her hands on her trousers with a forced laugh. "I'm _not_ in love with him, you s'wit. Can we go, now? I'd like to get to Dubdilla before one of those 'brutal feedings' becomes necessary."

Jole's grin returned as he got the hint. "Whatever you say," he murmured, rising to his feet. As he gathered his things and made for the cave entrance, Raema followed slowly. She thought about that hole he had ripped inside her, and wondered if it was Jole she was trying to convince, or herself.

* * *

 _Raema is alive,_ he thought over and over, and though it was technically untrue, Assurjan could not hold back the relief that flooded through him as he hurried northward on hovering feet. The gift of levitation was not meant to be used continuously this way, but haste needed to be made, and it was much faster to race _above_ the mountains than around them. He ignored the physical and magical fatigue that was creeping upon him and pressed himself harder.

 _Raema is alive_. It had been all he could do, when he'd found her, not to sweep her into his arms and kiss her, and the Redguard be damned. And then he had seen what he'd done to her; her already-pale skin a deathly white, her eyes bright with an almost feverish, flickering sort of light, the kind that signified a desperately hungry vampire. Her cheeks had been hollow, her eyes sunken, her body moving with a tired frailty that told him she hadn't fed in days. Guilt overrode his relief as he remembered that sight.

At least she had looked better after she'd fed on him. He forced himself to remember the last vision he had of her, freshly fed, strong and vibrant with his own power inside her, eyeing him with surprised indignation before he'd left her to find her cure.

 _A cure._ That was another uncomfortable thought. He had never considered that possibility, until he found her traveling with the Redguard. And he had wanted so badly, when she asked him, to go with her... to share in that blessing and leave this vampiric unlife behind....

 _Perhaps someday,_ he told himself. At least she would be healed, restored to her old self, and all would be well. As well as possible. He put such thoughts aside as the mountains smoothed out beneath him and the rocky northern coast became visible in the distance. He began to descend, looking for the tomb entrance he knew would be nearby. A few minutes’ searching revealed his destination, a simple door set into a hillside. He wavered on his feet momentarily when he let the spell expire a short distance from the door, and shook off a feeling of dizziness. He would need to feed, and soon....

The tomb was nearly silent save for the sibilant whispers of the dead that hung on the threshold of his hearing. Assurjan ignored them, listening for something else as he took a few cautious steps deeper into the tomb. It came to him after a moment, the soft sounds of murmured voices, muffled by distance. He rounded a few corners, following the corridor into the heart of the tomb, and stepped into an open room. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then four of the Dunmer in the room snarled in fury, charging at him. Assurjan spread his hands to either side, palm outward, and raised his eyebrows at the room's fifth occupant.

"Stop!" Irarak thundered, and the four froze, one fool teetering precariously before deciding to risk another step for balance. "Be at ease," Irarak ordered them, and took a step down from the dais on which he stood. He bowed his head, but did not kneel, as was appropriate; this was his home, and Assurjan was merely a guest. His voice was courteous as he said, "My lord Ancient, this is a surprise. And an honor. How can I be of assistance?"

Assurjan glanced pointedly at the four mortals, and Irarak waved a hand absently. They fled the room in a flurry of nervous bows and murmured acknowledgments. Irarak raised his chin and folded his hands before the belt of his robe. "What brings you here, Ancient One?"

Assurjan gave him a tired smile. "We two are the only ones here, old friend. There is no need for such fomalities."

Irarak returned the smile, though his eyes remained wary. "Indeed... and yet, I can't help but doubt that you are here for a simple social visit, Assurjan. From what I understand, your clan is besieged by more than three times your number, Raema is missing, and our dear old master is fairly foaming at the mouth to destroy you."

"True enough, though my Hand is... simply tending to other matters," Assurjan conceded, and decided to be as direct as possible. "Irarak, your aid in warning us about Berne was indispensable. I have come to ask for your aid again. Telasero is strong, and we can hold off the others for a time... but we _are_ besieged, and they need only wait for our slaves to starve, for us to go mad with hunger afterward...."

Irarak had always been quick-thinking. "And you want me to come hurtling upon them with all the might at my disposal?" he asked, sarcasm coloring his voice.

"I saw four just now who were willing to attack the threat to their master on sight," Assurjan said quietly. The other vampire let out a short laugh.

"Four _mortals,_ Assurjan. There are a few more I could call, and maybe turn them so they'd actually be of some use, but... You know as well as I, he would compel them and turn them on me, the instant he realized who they were."

"Berne will be too concerned with a certain Ancient to compel anyone," Assurjan replied. "My own people will be hard-pressed by the other clans. Anything you can do to distract Quarra or Aundae, anything to soften the blow against us... I ask only that you consider it, Irarak."

The Berne vampire did, pressing his lips together in thought before he said at last, "Assurjan... if it were only myself, I would not hesitate to help you, for the sake of our friendship and for what you've done for me in the past. But I hope you will understand... I bear a certain responsibility toward my followers, and I cannot blindly commit their lives to this. I must ask: what do you offer in return?"

 _I understand perfectly,_ Assurjan thought, with a trace of sadness. "Protection," he said softly. "If all goes well, you and yours will be under the protection of Juraene clan, and any who dare harm you- _including_ Berne- will pay with their lives."

Irarak's mouth twisted sourly. "And if all goes poorly, he'll kill me. Which he has been trying to do for years, anyway."

Assurjan waited silently, watching the torchlight flicker shadows against the tomb walls. "I can promise you nothing now," Irarak said, reluctantly. "I will not force this on them. But I will ask them."

The Ancient let out a breath, running a thumb over the enchanted ring on his finger. "Thank you, Irarak," he said sincerely. "I can ask no more than that. But I must go; the night grows short."

Irarak nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but the spell had already enveloped Assurjan in a blue light, and the tomb's interior faded away.

* * *

He returned to Telasero in the same place he'd left, just inside the entrance. Talintus was there, a short distance from the door, speaking intently to several younger vampires. They all looked up, tensing, when he appeared. Talintus hurried towards him.

The interior of the stronghold wavered, bleeding into the unsettling blackness of tunnel vision for a moment. Assurjan shook his head slightly and resisted the urge to brace himself on the wall for support. It had been a taxing night; allowing Raema to feed upon him, and then the breakneck pace he had set to reach Irarak's lair before dawn... The Recall spell had nearly drained him. He pushed the discomfort away for a moment longer and strode to meet Talintus. "Report."

"Nothing of import, my lord," the Imperial said. "They've been quiet all night, maybe waiting for something. Waiting for their full strength to arrive, maybe."

"Or ours, perhaps," Assurjan murmured as Talintus fell into step beside him. The other Ancients would have been able to sense his absence. "Very well. I hunger, Talintus. Send for a slave, and summon the Elders to me."

"Aye, my lord," came the reply, and then the Imperial paused. "My lord, may I ask... did you find Raema? Is she well?"

"Yes. The Hand... will be joining us soon," he said, and hoped he was right.

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

"I think this may be it," Jole murmured, gesturing at the dark tunnel mouth that gaped before them.

Raema pushed sodden hair away from her eyes. "You said that about the last three tunnels we tried," she said softly, mindful of the way voices could echo in the cave. "Are you sure we haven't been down that way already? We've been wandering in here for hours. This cave can't possibly be so big that we've not covered every inch of it already."

Jole shrugged and headed down the passageway in question, sloshing through ankle-deep water. "We haven't met any Daedra yet, have we? So obviously there's _someplace_ we haven't been," he pointed out reasonably.

"If Molag Bal told us the correct place," she muttered as she followed him.

"And it hasn't been _hours_ ," Jole continued, and amended it a few moments later. "Well. Maybe two."

Raema rolled her eyes, and wished she shared the Redguard's good mood. Slogging through the half-submerged cave all morning in water-logged boots, with daylight pounding in her skull, had done little to lift her spirits. She rested a hand on the hilt of her scavenged glass dagger and scowled. _Bad enough I'm sent halfway across Vvardenfell to kill a god's offspring -and Vivec knows what else- without even a proper weapon... But if Molag Bal's sent me on some useless wild guar chase while Assurjan is in danger..._

Lost in her thoughts, her eyes on the uneven, slippery footing, she walked right into Jole's back before realizing he had stopped. He held up a hand, his head cocked to the side.

"Do you feel that?" he whispered. "Seems like it just became a lot colder."

Raema shivered, realizing he was right. Her sodden clothes were suddenly giving her chills. She smiled, instantly feeling better. "A frost atronach." Finally, they were getting close.

Jole grinned over his shoulder, his teeth gleaming in the dimness. "Told you it was this way."

"Shut up," she muttered. His smile flashed once more, and then he stepped carefully forward, moving quietly. They crept through the tunnels, crossing an ancient bridge. A faint yellow glow lit their way, Raema realized; there was a light or a fire somewhere ahead of them. As they neared their prey, she slowly became aware of a horrible smell, like rotting refuse and dead animals, growing stronger as they approached its source. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

A few paces before her, Jole dropped to a crouch behind an outgrowth of dimly gleaming crystals. "There," he mouthed, pointing ahead.

Raema knelt beside him, easing her dagger free. "I'm the one who needs curing," she breathed, testing the edge of the blade against her thumb. "I won't ask you to fight her with me. Just keep the atronach occupied while I do it?"

The Redguard gave a tight nod, his grin catching the light from the crystals. Raema swallowed hard and stood up, walking straight into the Daedra's hideout.

They noticed her immediately. She had time, just a moment, to register Molag Bal's daughter as a vaguely female form; the creature had skin the color of a twilit sky and strange, leathery wings. She heard Jole's shout and the coughing roar of the atronach, and then Grunda flew at her, shrieking.

Raema darted aside, choking on the backdraft of foul air from the Daedra's wings. Grunda wheeled about, advancing on foot. Her wings darted forward in vicious strikes that whistled past Raema as she stumbled back, narrowly avoiding them.

Her boot slipped on wet rock; she glanced back, and Grunda's tail lashed out, coiling about her waist. Raema slashed at it, but the little blade snapped at the hilt, turned by the monster's rough hide. She cursed, flinging away the broken dagger, and then the coils tightened about her middle. Molag Grunda took to the air with a rush of fetid air and a screech that echoed in the cavern

Raema flinched, watching the roof of the cave approach at an alarming rate. Grunda need only drop her, or swing her against the stone... as the Daedra drew her closer, within arms' reach, Raema swung her fist desperately. She felt inhuman flesh against her knuckles; then Grunda caught her arm in both hands, and sank her teeth into Raema's forearm. Pain flared in her head, and desperate panic followed a moment later. Raema slammed her free hand against the monster's chest, an instinctive attempt to push her way free.

As before, it happened without her even thinking of it; her hand began to glow, a bright spot in the whirling confusion of the creature's flight. _Of course, idiot_ , she began to think ruefully; and then the Daedra's power flooded into her.

It was foul, more vile than anything she had ever experienced; a power that was hideous and not meant for consumption, at least not by vampires. Her body rebelled at it, stomach twisting, bile rising in her throat. Jaws tore free from her arm as Grunda let out a furious, agonized shriek. Her tail tightened reflexively around Raema's waist, and then loosed her completely, her hands clawing at Raema's arm. Desperately, Raema clutched at the Daedra's wrist, knowing even through the haze of sickening energy filling her that letting Grunda go would mean her own death. The world narrowed into frantically fluttering wings, rushing stone, and Grunda's hideous screams; and over it all the vile sensation of the Daedric energy swarming into her. A jarring impact shook her, and then, mercifully, the power that fed her was cut off. Another collision seemed to rattle the very brains in her skull, and darkness came as suddenly as if a candle had been blown out.

* * *

_There was a tattoo on his chest, an Ashlander design, dark swirls inked onto his skin. She stared down at him, traced the markings with her fingertips, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat. His own hands were on her hips, helping her move along with him. "Gods," she whispered breathlessly. She saw him smile up at her, and then he rolled, flipping her onto her back. His eyes locked onto hers; they were milky-white, as always, but there was a heat them that she'd never seen him reveal before. And they were glowing, faintly, but she trusted him implicitly, knew that there was at least one hunger he would not allow himself to satisfy with her._

_"Mine," he breathed hoarsely, running a hand over her skin. "You are mine..." He lowered himself to kiss her, fiercely, and she moaned as he caught a handful of her hair in a passionate grip. Then his mouth moved, trailing kisses along her jaw, below her ear. She gasped, wrapping her arms around him, feeling the muscles of his back working beneath his skin. "Please," she said, almost a whimper. She felt his lips curve in a smile against her neck, and then a sharp pain pierced her throat. Her mind, fogged by desire, realized too late that he had bitten her, that he must have misunderstood, this wasn't what she wanted..._

_"No..." she tried to protest, but her body was sluggish, would not respond to her wishes as he drank her life into himself. She felt him swallow her blood, felt a rivulet of it trickle down her neck, soaking the bedclothes in a warm, wet pool beneath her._

_"No!" She tried again, but then it was truly too late. She felt the unmistakable touch of magicka sliding into her soul, cold as death, settling deep within her, waiting to destroy her from the inside out. And still, he kept feeding, drinking away her life, until nothing was left of her but an empty shell..._

She was going to be sick, empty stomach or not. She gagged, retching, and felt hands hastily turning her on her side, though she coughed up nothing to choke herself. When it passed, she was eased onto her back. Memory of the nightmare receded; her blurry surroundings swam dizzily before resolving into Jole's concerned face, leaning over her.

"Raema?" He peered at her eyes, then snapped his fingers, watching her track the movement of his hand above her. "Are you alright? Can you speak?"

"Think so." Her voice was barely audible, even to herself. "What...?"

"It's over. You hit your head pretty hard; had me worried for a while. Wasn't sure if you'd wake up. And I suppose I should have warned you about feeding off a Daedra."

She felt her stomach seize up at the reminder, and forced herself to ignore it. "Bloody s'wit," she managed. Jole gave her a relieved smile.

"Name-calling is a good sign," he said, adding, "Don't try to sit up yet."

Raema blinked fuzzily, taking stock of her injuries, and finding none. "I'm fine," she said, pushing herself upright. The cavern swam woozily in her vision. "Just a little dazed. And dizzy. What happened?"

Jole sat back on his heels, watching her carefully. "Apparently Grunda was so desperate to get you off herself, she forgot to even bother with the wings." He stood and walked a short distance to the Daedra's carcass, kicking at it. "You landed right on top of her, luckily. Her back broke. And her skull."Raema watched the monster's head roll limply, catching a glimpse of the mess that spattered the ground beneath it.

"Why... why was it like that? When I fed on her? I've never experienced anything so..." She trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Revolting?" Jole supplied helpfully, and she nodded. "That's just how it is. Daedra... well, you know. They belong to the gods; I guess they didn't want vampires feeding off their servants all the time."

"Well, it's certainly effective. I can't see why anyone would try again, after that."

"There's always some who do try," he told her, coming back to sit beside her. "There's a lot of power concentrated in one feeding, that way, and it goes a long way. Your arm is healed already, for example."

Raema blinked, looking down at her forearm. She hadn't even thought about it until Jole mentioned it.... And he was right. Where Grunda's teeth had torn into her flesh, new pale skin mottled her arm, as if the injury had been months ago. Her own dried blood still smeared the older skin, but she felt not even a twinge of pain. "Gods," she said. For the first time, she turned her attention voluntarily to her own hunger, and found herself sated, as if she'd eaten a feast. She was still inexperienced at making such a guess, but she estimated she wouldn't need to feed for several days, perhaps. A rather unsavory, but convenient, plan began to form.

"Don't even think about it," Jole broke into her thoughts. "Vampires have tried it before, Raema. If it worked, half the vampires on the island would feed off Daedra. But it's the same as if you try to live off animals; they just aren't what you need. It'll drive you mad, if you try it."

Raema flexed her wrist, watching the tendons slide beneath her newly patchworked skin, and thought about this information. "In any case," she said, looking back up at Jole, "I'll be healed before I need to feed again." _I hope,_ she added silently. She rubbed at her temple, gauging the strength of her headache and wondering how much of it was due to her fall. "It's still early in the day; we'll have to wait here a while. Or, _I_ will, anyway. Jole..." She glanced at the atronach that lay, gleaming like dirty ice, in the corner. "Thank you. Without your help, the hope that you've given me... I probably would have killed myself rather than accept this fate. But I won't ask you to risk your life any further, not on my behalf. What happens now is... it's not your battle to fight."

Jole raised his eyebrows. "Battle, eh? So I assume you are going back to... to the clan?"

Raema drew in breath to answer, and let it out slowly, realizing she hadn't truly made her decision yet. After a moment, Jole grinned. "I'm always ready for an adventure with a friend," he said, and extended a hand to help her up. "And this one isn't over yet. But can we at least make our way back towards the cave entrance? The smell in here is even making _me_ sick."

* * *

“Got one,” Volrina Quarra declared sourly, stalking towards him in the waning twilight with three other vampires in tow. “Though I still don’t see why you want her, Raxle. What’s this about?” She stepped aside, so that Raxle could see the vampire being hauled in by two of Quarra’s followers.

The Juraene vampire was a Wood Elf, pale and slender, with tangled blonde hair. She might have been pretty, if she didn’t look like she’d been trampled by a herd of guars. Both eyes were blackened and swollen; blood trailed from her nose and a split in her lower lip. Her neck and arms were darkened with bruises and smears of dirt, and blood stained her clothing. The Quarra vampires let her go; she crumpled to the ashy ground without a sound.

Raxle’s mouth twisted. “Is she conscious?” he asked, annoyed. “I need to _talk_ to her, Volrina.”

The other Ancient shrugged, unconcerned, and folded her arms across her chest. Raxle crouched beside the captive Bosmer. Her eyelids flickered open, and she flinched when she caught sight of him. "What's your name?" He asked softly.

Her lip curled in defiance, and she said nothing. Raxle smiled, reaching down to stroke her cheek with a fingertip. She shuddered as he fed from her. He drew just enough of her life into himself to make her muscles convulse, to make her cough and grimace in pain.

"I don't need to kill you, Elf," he told her, when he let the spell subside. "I need you alive, to carry a message for me. But if you refuse to cooperate, you leave me no choice. Your name?"

"Silweyn," she said after a moment.

Raxle smiled. "Good girl," he said, caressing her cheek gently. "Now, Silweyn, you're going to listen to me very carefully, because it is vital that you understand what I am about to tell you. Do you know how many vampires are gathered to destroy Juraene clan?"

She licked her lips, and said nothing.

"We outnumber you almost five to one, Silweyn. You see how easily the four of them took you? We will shatter your clan with just as little effort as we captured you. Are you prepared to face those odds?"

"You give us little choice, Ancient," she whispered. Raxle smiled again, and sat back on his heels.

"On the contrary, young blood; I am giving you a choice this very moment." Behind him, Volrina Quarra shifted restlessly, glass armor clinking. He continued, "My quarrel is with Assurjan alone. I have no grudge against his clan, save that you will get in my way, trying to defend him. You begin to understand?"

The Bosmer's eyes narrowed. "Not entirely."

The Berne Ancient leaned closer, until he was nearly nose to nose with the captive. "Assurjan will die, Silweyn. That is a promise. Whether you and your clan insist on dying with him, well.... That is entirely up to you." He reached for her again, and she shied away, but he caught her throat in his hand. He loosed a spell, watched her bruises fade and disappear, the cut in her lip seal over. Her eyes widened, startled, when she realized what he was doing.

When he let her go, a little short of full recovery, she scrambled to her feet, backing away warily. "I don't believe you," she hissed. "With the Ancient dead, it will be that much easier for you to destroy the rest of us."

"Believe what you will," he said with a shrug. "I can only tell you that my fight is with Assurjan himself, and not the vampires who belong to his bloodline through no fault of their own." A sudden thought struck him, and he drew the sword at his hip, watching her tense at the motion. He flipped the weapon, catching it by the blade and holding the hilt towards her. "Do you recognize this?"

"That's the Hand's sword," she said, after a moment.

"Yes," Raxle confirmed, returning it to its scabbard. "Did you know she was one of you when we captured her? Assurjan had turned her, and she hadn't even known it was happening. I spoke to him about it, you know. He was decidedly... unconcerned, when I informed him I'd had her killed."

Silweyn's eyelids flickered; hesitation, perhaps. He raised an eyebrow. "I daresay that no one in Juraene clan means any more to him than his precious Hand, Silweyn. Do you believe he will be more reluctant to throw away _your_ lives to save himself, than he was with hers?"

She stared at him for a long moment, looking as if she were about to speak; but she said nothing. Raxle gestured towards Telasero, just visible over the rocky terrain in the near-darkness. "You are free to go, Silweyn," he told her. "I trust you will carry my message to anyone who needs to hear it."

There was a silence in the little clearing, and then she was gone, fading into the shadows without a sound. Raxle stood quietly, enjoying the silence, waiting for...

"Berne, what in bloody Vivec's bloody name are you _doing_?" Volrina burst out. "It's all very well if you want to bargain away a battle for your clan... but my vampires have been waiting to shed Juraene blood for a long time. I grew tired of waiting weeks ago, Berne; you promised us a fight, and that's what I'm going to get, whether you-"

He around, and strode toward the cave that had become the three clans' daylight lair. "Surely you didn't believe what I told that n'wah, Quarra?" he cut her off. "You, and Aundae, will have ample time to rid the entire island of Assurjan's vampires, when I have what I want." He paused, and looked at her over his shoulder. "I want Assurjan, and I want him to suffer. Can you imagine how that betrayal will hit him, when he realizes his own people have given him up in the hopes of saving themselves?"

Volrina raised her eyebrows. "Do you think she believed you?"

"Did you see her hesitation? I'm willing to bet that Assurjan hasn't even told the clan that Raema's dead. But now, she's seen the Hand's sword; it should go a long way to convince her."

The other Ancient smiled slowly. "Very devious of you. But are you certain she can convince the rest of the clan?"

" _This_ is what I am certain of, Quarra: Vampires are loyal to their Ancient only insofar as he can protect them. She will persuade enough of Juraene that they needlessly fight a losing battle, and Assurjan will be handed to me... by his own people."

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

The signpost, just faintly legible in the dim light of pre-dawn, pointed to the left and right. The arrows read _Suran_ and _Molag Mar,_ but Raema knew those were not the places the road would lead her. To the west lay Bal Ur, the shrine of Molag Bal; the cure for her vampirism. More than that, there lay a chance to walk away from the vampire life she had been subjected to for the past months. A chance to be free, a chance to start a new life as her own master, instead of a slave to another.

And to the east... _Assurjan,_ she thought, and felt something tighten in her chest. The man who had transformed her, from a slave to something more... and then, to a vampire. He was in danger. _I don't care,_ she told herself fiercely, and knew it for a lie. _I shouldn't care..._ she amended. _But I do._

She felt a gentle pressure; Jole's hand, giving her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "Which way, Raema?" He asked softly.

She rubbed wearily at her temples, wishing she could massage away the pain that was building inside her head. "I... I don't know."

Jole waited a few moments. "I thought you would have decided by now."

"So did I," she replied, staring at the crossroads that lay before her.

The Redguard let his hand fall. "Look," he said kindly. "It's almost dawn anyway, and I'm exhausted. We've been running hard all night. Let's just find some shelter; you'll have all day to think about it while I get some sleep."

"All right," Raema said, glad to delay the decision. She let Jole take the lead, scouting for a tomb or cave to shelter for the day, and wondered what in Vivec's name she was going to do.

* * *

The dusty, barren landscape surrounding Telasero was hardly a hospitable place for wildlife, but it seemed unnaturally quiet this evening. The night almost seemed to be holding its breath, waiting with trepidation for events to unfold.  _It will be tonight_ , Assurjan thought, striding across the roof of the fortress to where Talintus stood at the edge, on watch. The Imperial vampire looked up as his Ancient approached.

"My lord," he said, with a nod of his head. "They haven't shown themselves yet, but we know they are out there."

Assurjan folded his hands behind his back, and stared into the darkness. He could feel the other Ancients, three dark spots in his awareness, each distinct from the others. The sense of Berne was the most familiar, bringing back memories that Assurjan refused to contemplate. "And Juraene clan?" He asked quietly.

Talintus glanced sideways, at the small knot of vampires that stood at a far corner of the rooftop. "Worried, my lord," he answered honestly. "We all know the numbers we face. But we trust you, my lord."

Assurjan quirked an eyebrow, though the other vampire wouldn't see it in the darkness. "Numbers only matter in a solely physical battle, Talintus."

"Of course," the Imperial said evenly, and changed the subject. "My lord, if I may ask... Should I expect Raema to return in time for this fight? She's grown quite strong; her presence would be a great advantage for the clan."

The Ancient was silent for a long moment. "The Hand will be here when she arrives, Talintus. Her current assignment may, or may not, be fulfilled by the time our business here is concluded."

Talintus shifted, armor creaking in the darkness, clearly unhappy with the answer, but he said only, "They'll come from the west, we think... The best way to approach the fortress is through that pass, there."

"Our plan remains unchanged," Assurjan told him. "Move everyone to the pass; we will hold Berne and his vampires there. They must not be allowed to surround the fortress. Leave a small contingent here for a rearguard, as we arranged."

"Aye, my lord," Talintus said, and hurried off to obey.

Assurjan drew an unnecessary breath and let it out slowly, hoping to ease his worries. Raema might have already left the Grazelands by now, if she was moving quickly... He wished he could sense her location with as much ease as he could the Ancients.

A flicker of movement caught his attention; the clan, spilling out of the fortress and hurrying silently towards the pass he had indicated. It seemed a pitiful number, compared to what he knew was arrayed against them. His words to Talintus had been true, to a point. There was more sorcery arrayed against Berne than the other Ancient knew, and it was the only advantage they truly had on their side. But with the numbers that they faced, all his magicka might only delay the inevitable end.

He pressed his lips together grimly, and waited, as his vampires formed a battle line under Talintus' direction. He waited, as they found their positions and stood motionless, melting into the darkness until they were no longer visible. He waited in the stillness, while the moon crawled through the sky and Raxle Berne crept towards Juraene and somewhere, somewhere Raema would be coming back from the north, on her way to her cure...

Close now, so close, the Ancients were approaching... the three of them were separated, drawing near at different paces. Volrina Quarra was coming first, an impatient, bloodthirsty stain on his inner vision. Berne would arrive next, his eagerness tempered by caution. He knew, at least to some degree, not to underestimate Assurjan. The Aundae Ancient and her clan brought up the rear, a cool, calculating presence.

Assurjan turned his awareness inward, drawing upon his sorcery. The power flooded his limbs, a prickling sensation of energy waiting to be unleashed. The feeling was less than comfortable, but he had endured worse. Spells waited behind his lips, ready to release words and magicka at a moment's notice. He clenched his fists, holding the power at bay, and waited.

There was a flash as an arrow streaked out of the night, finding its mark in one of his vampires with a burst of frost-light. Talintus shouted, and the night's silence was shattered as Juraene's enemies burst forth from the pass. Assurjan watched them come; vampires from three clans, and more- Bonewalkers and Daedroth, Atronachs and Hungers, other summoned creatures he had only read about. Their howls and cries echoed around the canyon, and shadows danced frantically in the uneven glow of magicka that lit the surrounding stones.

Assurjan's lip curled in defiant anger, and he raised his hands, extended his will. Fire and lightning erupted above the approaching forces, striking with deadly accuracy. Bodies fell, sizzling with lightning burns, or engulfed in waves of flame that rained from the sky. The power poured out of him, while his followers stormed the approaching enemy. They wielded magic of their own, or simply fed, savagely, where they could. Some few bore weapons; Talintus did, of course, a broadsword in one hand and a war axe in the other, leaving behind a trail of severed limbs and the dust of departed Undead.

Assurjan continued his spellcasting, watching scores of foes fall, though it seemed to make little difference. More and more poured through the pass, while sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his cheek. Finally, his own forces were so deeply entwined with the enemy that he risked their own lives by continuing. He let his hands fall, and darted for the side of the fortress. He had lost track of the other Ancients, but they would find him all too easily if he stayed in one place. He vaulted over the edge, softening the landing with a muttered invocation, and drew his sword.

Chaotic carnage reigned on the ground, as he raced around the fortress towards the battle. The air smelt of smoke, charred flesh and spilled blood, igniting a conflicting mix of bloodlust and repulsion. He ignored it, charging toward the center of the line he'd ordered Talintus to hold. The Juraene vampires were giving way, slowly; the line buckling where the ranks had been thinned. If the safety of the fortress, their only retreat, was breached...

A hideous mess of muscle and bone reared up before him, unleashing a flare of yellow light. He felt the Bonewalker pulling at him, attempting to drain his strength, and released a spell of his own. The undead creature faded in a flash of light, only to reveal an Aundae vampire behind it. She choked on the words of her next spell as Assurjan ran her through. He tore his sword free of her chest and let her drop as he moved on, shouting for his vampires to regroup.

He lost track of time, of how many he killed, of where he was, in the heat of the conflict. Magicka illuminated his left hand, sending Daedra back to their Outer Realm, feeding from enemy vampires who dared to come within his reach. In his right, his sword was an extension of his arm, finding weak points in armor, in ghosts who perished at the touch of a silver weapon. He caught glimpses of Berandise moving through the melee with Altmer grace, dropping Berne's vampires and healing Juraene's with a touch. Talintus was never far away, blood-spattered and roaring, a fierce grin on his face. At one point, he saw the Quarra Ancient, her glass armor glittering in the flames around her, while she held one of his Dunmer with two fingers in his eyesockets and severed his neck. She kicked the lifeless body away and flung his head at a Hunger someone had summoned against her. Her eyes met Assurjan's through the battle between them, and she grinned; by the time he could spare another glance, she was gone.

He saw no more of her or the other Ancients for a long time, though he caught flashes of them in his awareness from time to time. It was nearing dawn, he realized with a start, when Raxle Berne appeared amid the chaos.

Assurjan straightened up from the corpse of the Quarra vampire he had just drained, and turned to face him. The fighting had eased somewhat in the immediate vicinity; battle still raged to either side of him, but the fighters had wisely cleared a space between the two Ancients.

"I was beginning to wonder when you would make an appearance, Berne." he said quietly.

Raxle smiled. "I didn't want to rush things. I've waited a long time for this, you know."

Assurjan tightened his grip on his sword, assessing the situation. The hours of battle had drained him significantly; the hasty feedings he'd had weren't enough to restore his strength entirely, and he was unsure if he could handle a fight with an Ancient. He watched the other vampire warily. Berne's leather armor was still spotless; if he'd taken any part in the battle, it hadn't been significant. He still sported Raema's sword at his side. Assurjan raised an eyebrow. "I am here," he said, neither a challenge or taunt, simply a statement of fact.

"My lord!" Talintus shouted. Assurjan heard him approaching, heavy booted feet coming at a run, and he flung up a hand, never taking his eyes off Berne. He heard Talintus stop, a safe distance away.

Berne laughed. It was a startling sound, amid the screams and clash of weapons. "You don't expect me to blindly walk into a duel with you, do you, Assurjan? I know you too well for that. I want only to congratulate you; your clan's resistance tonight impressed me. But I have something else in-"

"My lord!" Another voice, from behind Raxle this time; a young Berne vampire ran to his side. A bloody gash ran from the vampire's brow to jaw. He murmured something in Raxle's ear.

"What?" Raxle demanded, and shoved the wounded young blood aside. He shot a glance back at Assurjan. "Another trick of yours, Assurjan? It will buy you time, but you only make this harder on yourself." Without another word, he strode back towards the pass.

Frowning, Assurjan watched him go, glad enough of the momentary reprieve. Talintus approached, limping and bloodied. "What was that about?"

The Ancient relaxed a bit, rolling his shoulders. "I do not know," he admitted quietly, returning his sword to its sheath. He looked over Talintus' head to the fight that continued, several paces away. "How fares the rest of the clan?"

"Some casualties, my lord, but not as bad as it could be. Berandise has been-"

He had only an instant's warning; in his drained state, it was not enough. Volrina Quarra materialized in a flare of blue light, and lunged at him, snarling. Assurjan leapt aside, feeling a fiery line slice across his chest. Talintus shouted, and was cut off when Quarra unleashed a spell of poison, leaving him choking.

She turned to face Assurjan, that same hungry grin on her face. Her eyes glowed, and blood was splashed across her glass armor, drying in her hair. "Berne may think he has plans for you, but I've been waiting too long for the chance to fight you, Assurjan. Bugger his plans; I want the pleasure of killing you myself."

"I cannot provide you that pleasure," he replied calmly, drawing his sword. The gash she had traced across his chest was shallow, but it stung as the movement pulled at his skin. He watched her intently; she was less powerful than Raxle, but also less predictable. She moved to circle him, holding her glass longsword in a low, ready grip.

"We'll see," she murmured, stepping delicately over bodies without glancing down. Assurjan thought quickly. Dawn was not far off; he could feel the growing awareness of the sunrise pressing on his mind. If he could delay her until then...

She darted forward, sword flashing. He parried with one hand, hurling spells with the other, while she did the same. They circled each other, over and over, evenly matched, while dawn grew ever closer. Spells collided, fire and frost, paralysis and blindness, deflected as harmlessly as the weapons that clashed against one another. Distantly, Assurjan was aware that the sounds of battle elsewhere had faded; Berne's forces were retreating, unable to breach the defenses and gain shelter in Telasero before sunrise. Sweat seeped into the wound on his chest, into others he hadn't known he had, leaving fiery spots on his temple, his arms and neck. Volrina fought with fierce intensity, focused only on him, parrying and countering anything he threw at her. He heard Talintus' voice shouting orders for the clan, directing them back inside the stronghold.

"This is foolishness, Quarra," he said. "Will you press this fight until the sunlight roasts the both of us?"

"I'd rather die in the sun than with a sword in my back." She swept his sword aside, slipping inside his guard, planting a hand against his chest. He felt her spell brush against him, and struck with his free hand, a solid blow to her jaw, knocking her aside. She fell to her side, kicking out viciously; her boot caught the side of his knee, and he dropped to the ground, biting back a snarl of pain. Her leg flashed out again, a kick to his face, this time. He caught her ankle and heaved with all his strength, swinging her off the ground and into a stone outcropping. Glass armor shrieked against the rock as she slid to the ground, dazed.

Assurjan had dropped his sword. He ignored it, and drew on his depleting reserves of magicka, pulling together a spell to-

Her own strike came as a surprise; she must have feigned her disorientation. A paralysis spell, strong enough to slip around his resistance, freezing him in place, leaving him balanced precariously on one knee. He cursed vehemently, silently, watching her rise to her feet.

He heard her chuckle as she approached, but he could only watch as she stopped before him, and drove her knee into his face. Lights blazed behind his vision; he felt himself falling limply as pain rocked through his head. More pain burst in his side, when her boot connected with his ribs.

When his vision cleared, she was crouched beside him, gazing down at him with a smile. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose; she was ignoring it. "Looks like I won't be the one to die today," she hissed. He tried to recoil as she brought her hand to his cheek, but his body refused to cooperate. He could feel it, though, when she began to feed, pulling at his strength. Muscles and tendons tightened in protest, his heart struggling erratically while she drained him.

The pain in his head was different, now; the acute sensation from the blow to his head was fading into the dull headache of imminent sunrise. More of his life spilled away, absorbed by the other Ancient, but he could feel her paralysis spell wearing away, could feel movement returning to his limbs. He forced himself to wait, not to give himself away until-

Her face above his was fading into tunnel vision, tinted red around the edges; he gritted his teeth and waited, until the paralysis lifted enough for him to clench his fist, out of her sight. Quarra let out an enraged howl as his arm shot up, shoving her away with a blast of fire. She hit the ground with a grunt, several paces away.

Grimacing, Assurjan pushed himself into a sitting position, arms trembling slightly. His knee, the one she had kicked, was bent at an odd angle; there was no way it would support his weight. Volrina Quarra was climbing to her feet, fury written plainly on her face. Assurjan glanced back at the stronghold. Even at a dead run on both legs, he wouldn't make it; but neither would Quarra. He allowed himself a tiny smile, as dawn broke over the rocky terrain, over the roof of the stronghold.

It was blinding, a brilliant wash of light in his eyes, of blood pounding in his ears. He heard Volrina cry out in pain, and gritted his teeth against the scalding sunlight. He drew up his good leg, struggling to get it under himself, to get to his feet.

Hands caught him, hauled him upwards. His unseen savior ducked under his arm, stumbling in Telasero's direction. Assurjan tried to help, succeeding only in wrenching his knee. Thoughts whirled deliriously in his head, memories of the last time he'd been caught in the sunlight, and Raema had brought him to safety... _Raema...._

Darkness, like a physical touch on his skin, blessedly cool. He drew in a shuddering breath, struggling to focus. He felt himself being propped up against the stone wall, and shifted to keep his weight balanced on his good leg. The uniform darkness resolved into shades, shadows- he was inside the stronghold. A dark face was staring at him, concerned.

"Irarak?" His voice sounded weak to his own ears.

Irarak did not answer, but only turned and shouted, bellowing for Talintus, for someone to bring a slave to feed the Ancient. When acknowledgment was shouted from deeper in the fortress, he turned his gaze back to Assurjan. "You were supposed to keep him busy, Assurjan," he hissed harshly. "This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Assurjan eyed the other vampire warily. " _What_ happened, Irarak?"

"My followers," Irarak said, not meeting his eyes. "My _vampires_ , Assurjan. We attacked from the west, behind them, hoping to surprise them. We fought with Aundae clan, and they believed we were Berne's people; it was perfect, making them think their alliance had crumbled. But someone sent word to him, and he came and compelled them. He turned them all, Assurjan. I brought them here, vulnerable, and now..."

Assurjan sighed. "Irarak, I am sorry," he said softly. There was little else to say.

The other vampire's lip twisted. He stepped forward, standing almost toe-to-toe with the Ancient. "You had better make this right, Assurjan," he snarled. "Because if any of the men who swore loyalty to me is killed by my hand because Berne ordered them to attack me... I swear to all the gods there are, I will kill you myself!"

Irarak glared for a moment longer, and then glanced aside. Assurjan followed his gaze; Silweyn stood at the end of the short corridor, a slave at her side. Irarak pushed away, shouldering roughly past them.

"My lord?" Silweyn asked quietly.

"Bring him here," Assurjan ordered, and she shoved the slave towards him. Assurjan reached for the Breton's throat, the spell glimmering in his hand already. The slave struggled, but it did not last long. A few moments later, Assurjan let the man's emaciated carcass fall, feeling his own strength restored somewhat. He tested his knee; it had half-healed, but out of place, and would not bend. Grimacing, he reached down and wrenched the joint back into place with an audible _pop_. He barely caught himself, with a hand against the wall, as the pain threatened to knock him off balance. "Another," he told Silweyn hoarsely. "And find Talintus."

She left without a word, and Assurjan limped down the corridor after her, deep in thought. They had a day, one day, for their diminished numbers to rest and heal, before Berne attacked again. Tonight's battle had begun a pattern that he had no wish to see completed; it would end with Berne's victory, if things continued on their current path. _Raema_ , he thought. _If you are going to return, you had best do it sooner rather than later._

* * *

"This is madness, Wood Elf," came a gravelly Dunmer voice out of the darkness. "The Ancient's survival is the only key to our _own_ survival. What do you think will happen to us if he is killed?"

Murmurs of agreement came from elsewhere in the dark room, the three or four other vampires Silweyn had trusted enough to be here, and whomever they had brought themselves. She had purposely chosen this forgotten chamber, left it unlit, knowing that all involved would be more comfortable in the anonymity.

"That is what I thought, as well," she admitted. "I said as much, then. And the Berne Ancient told me he had no interest in us, only Assurjan."

"And you believed him?" Asked another voice, incredulous. An Imperial accent.

"I will tell you what I believe," Silweyn said, her own voice harsh. "I believe that Assurjan has lied to us about the Hand returning, that she is dead and he knows it. I believe that he sent her to her death, and he will not hesitate to do the same to us, in an attempt to win this hopeless battle. And I believe that none of us wish to be destroyed for a grudge that originated well before any of us were turned."

Tense silence followed her words, as the unseen vampires considered her words. "What proof do you have that Raema is dead?" Someone asked.

"He showed me her sword," Silweyn said softly. "Berne had it in his hand; I saw it myself. She was captured, and he killed her; our own Ancient knows this, and has told us nothing."

"A sword does not necessarily equal a dead Hand. What if you're wrong?"

"Does it truly matter?" She asked. "Even if she were to appear alive and well, this very moment, how many of you believe we have a chance at victory? Even the allies that came to our aid have been turned against us, filling Berne's ranks instead of our own." She strode through the darkness to the room's entrance. "If anyone can conceive a better plan for our survival, I would hear it gladly. Until then, think on what I've said." She stepped out, shutting the door firmly behind her.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

Raxle Berne folded his arms across his chest, staring unseeing at the twilit sky. He was focused inward; with his mind's eye, he could see a memory of a map, and a mental image of the Ancients nearby. Dhaunayne was the strongest presence; she stood not two paces from him, and nearly hid his awareness of Assurjan, some distance away. The Dunmer would be at Telasero, still. His strength had returned; the Juraene Ancient had fed well since the night before.

"I do not feel her," the Altmer vampire said, giving voice to Raxle's next thought.

"Nor do I," he replied. "If Quarra survives, she is nowhere nearby. She may have recalled herself back to Druscashti."

Dhaunayne's expression twisted unhappily. "And what shall we do with all her vampires?"

"They are eager for another fight, for vengeance; we'll give it to them," Raxle said calmly. "And later, when Assurjan is mine, there will be time for them to be dealt with... if it's necessary. She may not have been destroyed, after all."

"As you say," she conceded. "And the newest additions to your own strength? How do they fare?"

Raxle chuckled. Turning that fool Irarak's followers against him had been a satisfying, if small, victory. "As well as can be expected. Sullen, but obedient nonetheless. I look forward to sending them into battle." _And seeing the look on Irarak's face_ , he added to himself. "We should start moving. Juraene clan will be- What's this?" he broke off, as one of his vampires, a man named Reberio, stumbled into view from behind a stone outcropping. Behind him was a man that took Raxle a moment to recognize; a Redguard, the one who had aided in the capture of Assurjan several weeks ago. He held a dagger to Reberio's throat, arm wrapped around the vampire's neck.

"You!" Raxle snapped, glaring. The man's name escaped him. "What do you think you're doing, hunter?"

"My apologies, Ancients," the man said, grinning. "I don't wish to hurt this one, but it was the only way to get him to lead me here. I only want to talk with you, if you'll hear me; I have a proposal."

Raxle barked out a laugh. "Do you realize how many undead are gathered in this place, mortal? What can you possibly offer that would be worth the time spent listening to you?"

"Seems to me that you could have used a mortal to finish the job this morning, once the sun came up," the Redguard pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

Raxle glared at him for a moment. _How long has he been here, watching?_ "What do you want?" he demanded finally.

"This other Ancient should have been dead a long time ago. I helped catch him once, I was there to watch his execution, and was robbed of the sight when he escaped. This time, I want to be sure he dies."

Next to him, Dhaunayne Aundae let out a low hiss, barely audible. Raxle ignored her. "And I'm supposed to believe you, ser...?"

"Jole," the Redguard supplied helpfully. He spread his arms, stepping away from Reberio, who turned to watch the hunter warily. Jole added, "I come peacefully, Berne- I walked alone into the combined might of three vampire clans. What kind of fool would I be if I tried to fight you?"

"It seems to _me_ , Jole, that the hunting of undead is a very foolish occupation in itself," Raxle said.

Jole only grinned. "I wouldn't have lasted this long if I were as big a fool as you think, Ancient."

Raxle did not need to glance at Dhaunayne to know her face would be set in disapproval. He scowled at the hunter, thinking. He didn't trust the Redguard, but it was true that a mortal, immune to the ravages of sunlight, would have been useful earlier... and might prove so again. "You may stay," he said, ignoring the Aundae Ancient's second hiss, louder this time. "You will be within sight of one of us at all times. And I will have little tolerance for your presence, Jole, so stay out of my way, or I may kill you before I remember our agreement."

The Redguard bowed in thanks, his smile showing only a hint of mockery. "You are too kind, my lord."

* * *

For the second time in as many nights, Assurjan watched scores of vampires, and their summoned creatures, pour out of the narrow pass, howling and snarling as they charged the fortress. This time, there was no standing aside to rain destruction from above; they would be expecting that. Instead, he stood at the front of the ranks, sword at his hip, the light of magicka swelling in both hands. He set his feet firmly, sensing the tension in the vampires to his left and right.

"Steady," he called above the din, as the enemy drew closer. A moment longer, and...

 _"Cast!"_ He roared, and heard Talintus echo the command, farther down the line. Assurjan and the other sorcerers suited actions to words, and a coordinated wall of flame swept forward, slamming into the breadth of the approaching enemies. Vampires three or four deep staggered, batting frantically at burning clothing and flesh. Daedra and creatures disappeared in a swirl of light; some resisted the spell, and continued forward.

 _Again_ , Assurjan thought, preparing another spell, shouting once more. Again, and again, his clan's sorcerers unleashed a massive spell together, slowing and dropping enemies under waves of fire. Twice more, before the first of them broke through and the spellcasters had more immediate danger to attend. The fourth wall of flame faltered, uneven and weakened; there was no time for a fifth. Assurjan drew his sword and charged ahead, snarling, to meet the talons of the Hunger that drew near. There was no opportunity to wonder how much damage the synchronized spellcasting had truly done. The Hunger fell in two pieces, still twitching, and Assurjan left it, throwing himself deeper into the fight.

The previous night's battle seemed to have been almost leisurely, compared to the conflict that raged among the black rocks of the Molag Amur this night. Faces swirled in his vision, snarling and bloodied, instantly forgotten as he cut them down and moved on. Both sides fought with a fierce recklessness- driven by a touch of desperation on the Juraene side, he knew. At one point, he recognized one of Irarak's vampires, a Dunmer Berne that, consumed by bloodlust, showed no regret as he was driven to attack his former ally. Assurjan parried the man's sword, stepping inside his guard and draining him with a touch, feeling just as little regret as the man's lifeless body dropped at his feet.

It went on like that for what felt like hours, a blur of blood, magicka and violence, until a Quarra vampire struck him a lucky blow, a spear thrust deep into his abdomen. Agony flared through his midsection. The other vampire danced away with a crazed laugh, fading into the fray before Assurjan could feed from her and heal himself.

Pressing a hand to the wound, he glanced aside, blinking against the pain that made his vision spin. While he'd stood still, the fight had passed him by; bodies littered the ground around his feet, but the battle itself was being fought several paces over. He stumbled towards it, knowing he needed to find either a healer or a victim before he bled to death.

"My lord!" It was Silweyn, at the edge of the fighting, who saw him. She kicked out the knee of a storm atronach that towered over her, taking off its head when it dropped to her height. She let it topple aside and hurried to Assurjan.

"Fetch Berandise," he ordered, waving her away. She nodded, and took off at a run in the other direction. Grimacing, Assurjan made his way slowly after her, behind the vampires of Juraene that still fought.

Not a full minute later, Silweyn returned with Berandise. They were followed by Serathas, and a few other vampires whose names Assurjan could not recall. Berandise's normally dour face looked more grim than usual as she approached, eyes on his wound. "This is bad, my lord," she said, laying a hand directly on the wound, ignoring his grunt of pain. "The healing will hurt." The others grasped his arms, as if to support him; he made to shrug them away, and then they were the only thing holding him upright as his knees buckled under him. His head rolled forward, and he snarled inwardly, unable to move. The Altmer had paralyzed him.

"I am sorry, my lord," she said softly, as her magicka continued, draining his strength, keeping him immobile. "It is the only way for us."

He railed at her silently, enraged, but he could not even roll his eyes upward to look at her. He stared at the blood-soaked dirt, at the sword he had dropped, at the feet of those who stood and watched her drain him. He felt his lifeblood slipping away, spilling from his wound, pouring into her body, and could do nothing.

"Berne will be waiting," came Silweyn's voice, and a fresh wave of frustrated fury washed over him. They were _giving_ him to Berne... Ashlander curses thundered in his head as he was dragged away from the battle.

* * *

Midnight was drawing near when Raxle and Dhaunayne, neither of whom had deigned to join the battle, both started, glancing at one another across the open space between the towering stones. "He's coming," the Altmer said, excitement threatening to crack her cool exterior.

Sitting a few paces from Jole, Raxle smiled, and stood up. Jole followed suit, watching both Ancients warily. He could sense Assurjan's approach as well, the powerful strength that he remembered, but furious, and somehow muffled. A few moments later, the Ancient came into view. He was being dragged by two vampires holding him under the arms; his head lolled on his shoulders, limp, and his feet bounced across the dirt. Another followed, a Wood Elf with her face set in grim determination. The three Juraene vampires stopped with their Ancient several paces from Raxle. Jole crossed his arms over his chest, watching as Raxle approached the group.

The Berne Ancient grasped Assurjan's chin roughly, forcing his head up to meet his eyes. Raxle's mouth twisted in a lopsided, humorless smile. "Finally," he said softly, raising his other hand to gesture at two other vampires in the shadows; they came forward to take him from the other two.

"Our agreement?" The Bosmer woman asked. Raxle glanced at her. "Go," he snapped. "Before I change my mind." Jole watched the three of them turn and fade into the shadows, his lip twisted in disgust.

Raxle's gaze returned to Assurjan, cold and dangerous. "Betrayal," he mused quietly. "Painful, is it not? Knowing that your trust has been misplaced, to the severest extreme? That the very people you tried so hard to protect have turned against you?"

Assurjan still remained motionless; he'd been paralyzed, Jole guessed. Raxle smiled and continued, "Revenge, on the other hand, is a wonderful feeling." He let Assurjan go, turning to look at Aundae. When he moved out of Assurjan's field of vision, the captive's gaze fell squarely on Jole, and the hungry light in his eyes flared brighter. Jole could almost see his fury, and the question that burned behind it. The Redguard glanced away, at the other Ancients.

"Dhaunayne, if you please," Raxle was saying, with a gesture toward the Dunmer. She stepped forward, laying her hands on their captive, weaving magicka around him and muttering to herself. When finished, she stepped back, a satisfied expression on her face. "He cannot hear us, nor cast spells, but he is strong enough that I am unsure how long it will hold him."

"Very well," Raxle said. One of the two supporting Assurjan asked, "Shall I recall our forces, my lord?"

The Berne Ancient smirked. "Let them fight until dawn, if they wish. I have what I came for. We'll be preparing to return to the lair." He grinned at Assurjan. "It's been a long time since you've been to Galom Daeus, hasn't it? I must admit, I'm looking forward to your stay." He reached out a hand, driving fingers into the wound on Assurjan's stomach. The Dunmer's eyes flickered, the only reaction he gave. Raxle smiled again, withdrawing his hand, and licked the blood from his fingers. "Yes, you shall be the most... interesting.. guest I've had the pleasure of hosting in quite some time." He turned back to Dhaunayne Aundae. "Stay with him, keep him under control until I return." He began to walk away, and then, almost as an afterthought, he looked at Jole. "You, too," he ordered. "You were so eager to make sure he didn't get away this time. See that he doesn't, or I'll have your head." _And stay out of my way_ , came the unspoken comment Jole could almost hear him add.

"As you say, my lord," he said, eying Aundae warily as Berne strode off. The Redguard rubbed at the bridge of his nose, where a headache was beginning to pulse. Too many powerful Ancients were gathered together for him to be comfortable. _At least it can't last too much longer,_ he told himself, crossing his arms again and glaring at Assurjan.

* * *

Sounds of battle-- faint snatches of screams and the clash of weapons-- began to reach Raema's ears as she raced south towards Telasero. Clouds of ash puffed around her feet as she ran through the foyada, using her awareness of impending sunrise, some hours away, to orient herself.  _If I can hear the battle, I still have time_ , she tried to convince herself.  _It's not over yet._

She paused, startled, as she realized she could sense something, a spot on her inner vision. It reminded her of the time Assurjan had found her and Jole in Molag Amur, when she had sensed his approach; it was similar, but less strong. She waited, hesitating, feeling the unseen Juraene vampire draw nearer; and then Silweyn came into view, rounding a bend in the foyada at a dead run.

The other Bosmer slowed, sensing Raema's presence in turn. The Hand stepped out from the shadows, and Silweyn's face went white. "You are-"

"-a vampire, obviously," Raema snapped impatiently. "Silweyn, what's happening?"

The other vampire shook her head vehemently. "You're supposed to be dead. He had your sword-"

A pool of cold lead settled into Raema's stomach. She snatched Silweyn's arm, jerking her closer. " _Where is Assurjan?"_

"You're too late," Silweyn hissed, tearing herself free and backing away. "Don't go that way, Raema," she warned, with another shake of her head. "Only destruction waits for us there."

Raema snarled out a curse and turned away, not waiting to watch Silweyn flee in the opposite direction. _If harm has come to him...._ she thought desperately, running onward. She felt the hunger growing inside her as she imagined the violence she would wreak on his enemies.

Blood pounded in her ears and her legs burned with the exertion when she finally crested a low ridge and saw Telasero's square bulk rise up from below. She could hear the fighting clearly now; it came from the far side of the stronghold, where a faint red glow outlined the building's silhouette. She leapt from the ridge without thinking, landing hard but managing to catch herself with a roll that jarred her shoulder. She sprang to her feet with a grimace and ran to the battle, drawing a sword she had pilfered from the cave at Dubdilla.

Chaos greeted her when she rounded the corner of the stronghold; vampires and monsters fought, with weapons and magicka and bare hands, howling and screaming. The ashy dirt surrounding the battle had become bloody mud, churned up by trampling feet. She halted, concentrating, struggling to sense Assurjan as she had Silweyn, but she could feel nothing except masses of vampires from four different clans, clumped in bright smears on her inner vision. She scanned the melee until her gaze fixed on Talintus, fighting in a circle of death marked out by the reach of his longsword.

She fought her way to him, shedding the blood of a Daedroth and two Aundae vampires on the way. "Talintus!" She shouted, catching his attention. He shot her a glance, kicked the corpse of a vampire off his sword, and retreated a few steps. "Bloody Oblivion, but I'm glad to see you, girl!" He roared over the din. Blood was dripping from a gash over his eye, and his armor was scuffed and dented, but he seemed well enough. No mention of her being a vampire, though she noted the questioning look in his eyes. He grabbed her arm and hauled her back, out of the thick of the fighting.

"Where is he?" Raema demanded, and Talintus' face distorted into a scowl.

"They took him- Bloody Silweyn and some other bloody cowards turned him over to save their own bloody arses-"

" _What?_ "

The grizzled Imperial set his mouth in a grim line. "If you've got any ideas, Raema, now's the time. I don't see how any of us will live till dawn."

She felt herself scowl in frustration. "Keep fighting," she shouted. "Draw them into the fortress if you have to. Keep them here, fighting you. This is the only chance I've got. If Berne's people return to him before Assurjan is freed, it's over."

Talintus nodded, clapping a strong hand on her shoulder. "Good luck, girl."

She nodded wordlessly, and turned away, running to find a way around the battle, hearing Talintus roar as he charged back into the fray. She managed to locate a path around the northern edge of the battle, stumbling blindly through the maze of upthrust rock formations as she sought frantically for any trace of Assurjan's presence.

* * *

The paralysis was beginning to wear off, slowly; a mixed blessing, for now Assurjan could once again feel the agony of the wound he had taken, feel the blood still trailing from it. His hearing still eluded him; he felt as if cloth had been stuffed into his ears. But he could move his eyes, at least. He glared at Dhaunayne; she stood a few paces to the side, holding the spells that bound him, ignoring him. He shifted his glare to the vampire hunter who stood nearby, avoiding his eyes. _You shall be the first to die, Jole Devan,_ he thought coldly, fixing his gaze on the vulnerable pulse point in the man's neck. _For whatever you have done to Raema, you shall die, if it is the only-_

Suddenly, as one, his guards turned to look toward the edge of the clearing in which they stood. Something had caught their attention. Assurjan followed their gaze, while Aundae shouted something, her hands beginning to glow. A Bosmer stepped into view across the clearing, disheveled, blood dripping from the steel shortsword she carried.

 _Raema_ , Assurjan barely had time to think, and then all Oblivion tore loose. Aundae raised her arms towards the Hand, and Jole moved with lightning speed, slamming into the Altmer's side and driving his elbow into the back of her skull. She crumpled to the ground stunned, and then movement, pain and sound rushed back to Assurjan as her spells were broken. He surged to his feet, shoved Jole aside and crouched beside the groggy Ancient, gripping her around the throat. Her strength poured into him, a rush of warmth that washed away his fatigue, began to seal the wound in his abdomen.

Her eyes snapped open, and she snarled, clawing at his face, feeding by a spell of her own. For a moment, they were locked in a circular balance, each taking from the other what had been taken away. He tightened his grip on her throat, feeling cartilage crackle beneath his hand. She needed no air, but he kept pressing, feeling her spell falter, watching her eyes widen in fear. Dhaunayne's hands beat at him, ineffectually; she was a powerful sorceress, but physical combat was not one of the High Elf's strengths. Her neck snapped with an audible _crack_ ; a burst of power flared into him as she lost control, and then cut off abruptly as she died beneath him.

He looked up in time to see Jole drive his knee into the midsection of one of the other vampires, and then knife him in the chest. The Berne vampire dropped to the ground at Jole's feet. Six bodies littered the clearing, besides Dhaunayne's; Raema and the Redguard had made short work of the others. "One is missing," he noted.

Jole grimaced, gesturing to the edge of the clearing. "He ran that way while we were busy. We're going to have company soon."

"We must go," Raema said, her voice fractured, multi-faceted, by hunger. She had not yet taken the cure. Her eyes glowed, with a strange luminescence that he had seen only rarely; she had fed from a Daedra, and he did not envy her the experience. But seeing her standing before him, _alive,_ and come to his aid, sent a rush of warmth through his veins.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

"Not as badly as you, my lord," she said, with a glance at his half-healed wound. "We-"

Assurjan felt Berne's return before he saw it; could sense the Ancient's wrath as he entered the clearing and saw what had happened. The Imperial vampire strode into view, sword in hand, snarling curses.

Assurjan looked at Raema; she glanced back at him, eyes glittering. "Feed," she muttered urgently. "I'll stall him." Without another word she turned and ran to intercept Berne.

"Wait!" Jole shouted. When she ignored him, he ran after her, drawing a dagger from his belt.

Assurjan grimaced, watching Raema meet Berne's advance with a clash of swords that echoed in the rocks. She was right; unless he fed, healed himself, they had almost no chance. He tore himself away from the fight, running back toward the stronghold in search of anyone, Berne or Juraene, to feed him.

He didn't have to go far. Only several paces out of sight of the battle behind him, he ran headlong into the mass of Raxle's forces coming the other way, rallying to their Ancient's side. He didn't hesitate, but charged at the foremost vampire, ducking inside the Nord's reach and slamming a hand into his chest, unleashing an explosive spell that drained the man's life in one burst. Assurjan snatched the man's axe as he fell and spun to meet the next foe, severing an arm and feeding from the vampire as she collapsed screaming. He drained four more, healing himself in short bursts, leaving a circle of withered bodies beneath him, while the rest of the horde streamed past on either side, charging to Raxle's aid.

He very nearly killed Talintus, when the first Juraene vampires appeared, chasing after the others. The Imperial leapt away from the swing of his axe, eyes widening. "My lord!"

Assurjan shot a quick look around; only his own were in sight now, shouting as they ran past, weapons upraised, believing they were routing the enemy. There was no time to search for any more victims. "Come!" He shouted, and raced back towards the clearing, Talintus at his side.

* * *

Raxle's first strike-- _with my own sword_ , Raema noted angrily-- sent tremors down her arms when she blocked it; she nearly dropped her own weapon. He kicked at her; she danced away, eyeing him warily. He was bigger than she was, more than a head taller, and he was an Ancient... if she wasn't careful, this would be over all too quickly.

The Ancient sneered at her. "I thought I had you killed, Bosmer." She felt a familiar presence at her side; Jole approached, throwing star in hand, following her lead and saying nothing. Berne's gaze flickered to him. "Very clever of the two of you. It seems Aundae was right not to trust your intentions."

Raema pressed her lips shut, circling him, sword held low. Jole moved, the ebony throwing star leaving his hand in a flash of firelight. Berne flinched slightly, leaning to the side; the star stuck harmlessly in the collar of his leather armor. The Ancient gave a humorless snort of laughter and jerked it free, turning it over in his hand without looking at it. "You chose the wrong Ancient to side with, hunter," he said to Jole, and flung the star. It sank into the joint of Raema's right shoulder, a sudden lance of pain. She grunted in surprise; her hand went numb, slipping from the grip of her sword.

"No!" Jole cried, drawing another star, and hesitating, thinking better of giving Berne another weapon.

Raema gritted her teeth, feeling fresh blood soaking through her shirt. She caught the sword in her left hand as it slipped from her right, shifting her stance awkwardly to compensate for the unfamiliar balance.

Without warning, Raxle bolted at her, moving far faster than she had expected. She barely managed to dart aside as his sword came crashing down. He swung again, and again, very nearly too quickly for her. Her left arm was useless with a sword. She could block only clumsily, and each blow sent more shudders down her arm, until her muscles trembled and her hand shook. _I've got to get rid of this sword,_ she thought, stumbling over a rock as she backed away.

She could hear shouting now; the greater battle was coming to them. _Thank you, Talintus_ , she thought. At least he had held them until Assurjan was freed. Raxle's sword arced down at her again; she brought her sword up, and let it go, dropping it at the moment of impact. As he lurched forward in suprise, off balance, she stepped into him and slammed her fist into his face. His head snapped backward and he took a step back to catch his balance; Raema brought up her leg, planting her foot on his armor and pushing. The Ancient fell, landing on his back in a puff of ashy dirt, and she followed before he could recover, driving her foot down on his right elbow as hard as she could, feeling the joint crunch beneath her boot.

Berne roared in pain and fury. Raema bent to snatch her sword from his weakened hand; clumsily, he jerked his arm out of her reach and seized her ankle with his other hand, pulling it out from under her. She landed hard, smashing her wounded shoulder against his armor, and cried out. Berne clutched a handful of her hair with his left arm, hauling her upward and rolling over, until his weight pressed her down against the ground.

Raema swung at him, desperately; he caught her wrist in his right hand with a grimace. His left hand tightened in her hair, drawing her head back, exposing her throat. _No-!_ She thought, as his fangs descended, sinking into her skin. He chuckled against her neck as she struggled; she could feel her blood, her life, flowing away, feeding him. Frantically, she thrashed about, unable to break her wrist free of his grip.

The shouting in the distance began to grow muffled as her senses suffered from the drain on her body. Snarling in pain, she worked at her wounded arm, willing it to respond. It had fallen limply over her head when they'd rolled; she managed to inch her fingers up, clamp them around Berne's hand where it clenched her hair.

His strength, when it flooded into her, was like Assurjan's had been-- a near-bottomless pool of energy, enough to sate her for days, if she could only get enough. She pulled at it, like a drowning woman gasping for air, drawing in as much as she could take, feeling the hunger rearing up inside her again-

It didn't last long. Berne snarled when he realized what she was doing, and shook his hand free of her grip, cutting off her spell. "Good attempt, Elf," he hissed, and struck her across the face. "But Ancients are not for feed-"

Something dark crashed into Berne, knocking him clear of her. Dazed and weakened, she could only blink several times before Jole's face appeared upside-down in her vision. "You alright?" He asked worriedly, sliding hands under her shoulders. He helped her sit up, and her reply died on her lips as her gaze fell on Assurjan and Berne, locked in a fierce blur of combat.

She glanced around the clearing; it was full of vampires, now; the Juraene vampires, under Talintus, had managed to get between Berne's forces and the two Ancients, but they were woefully outnumbered. "Help me up," she demanded, and Jole pulled her to her feet.

"You're not in any shape to be-"

"I'll be fine, as soon as I can feed," she snapped. "Get me over there; we have to keep them away from Assurjan."

Jole didn't reply, but he slung her good arm over his shoulders and helped her towards the fighting. Raema could still hear the two Ancients fighting behind her, faintly, over the din of the larger battle. She refused to turn and look. _Please, Assurjan..._ was all the thought she could spare, before she plunged once more into combat, snatching the first vampire she found and feeding. The wound in her arm knit closed, and feeling returned to her hand. The hunger that Raxle Berne's power had awoken in her roared into control, and she lost track of the bodies she left behind her. All thoughts faded behind a curtain of need and bloodlust, as she moved through the fray.

* * *

They rolled, puffing up clouds of dirt, crashing into a boulder and separating, each bounding to his feet at once. Raxle grinned at him, ferally, eyes glowing. "And here I thought I'd capture you without a fight," he said. "You impress me, Assurjan. And so does your Hand. Sorry about Silweyn and the others; it seemed like a bit of poetic justice to turn your own vampires against you, as you once did to me."

Assurjan tightened his grip on his axe, watching Berne warily. The other Ancient's weapon lay on the ground near where Raema had fallen, but with Berne's skill at unarmed combat, that made him no less dangerous. "You turned them against yourself, Raxle," he said calmly. "My vampires would have followed you, as would I, if you had allowed it."

" _Your_ vampires," Raxle sneered. He advanced a few steps; Assurjan stood his ground. "I have lived more than twice as long as you have, Juraene. You are no Ancient, save by an accident of fate-- one that I'm about to mend."

Assurjan said nothing, setting his feet and waiting for Berne's move. It came quickly, faster than he had expected; the Imperial Ancient lunged at him, a blur of armor, his fists flashing toward Assurjan. The Dunmer jerked his head aside; the first strike missed. Raxle's other fist grazed his cheekbone at a speed that whipped his head around, leaving a shower of stars in his vision. Snarling, half-blinded, he swung the axe. It bounced harmlessly off Berne's armor, but the spell of fire he cast at the same instant did not. Berne took a stumbling step sideways, shaking his head once, skin reddening, and roared back at Assurjan, catching his axe hand in a vise-like grip and hooking a leg around his ankle. Assurjan jerked his wrist free before the vampire could make him fall, and slammed his other elbow into Berne's jaw.

Raxle hopped backward, absorbing the blow, and kicked out as he did so. The toe of his boot hit the side of Assurjan's thigh, and the Juraene Ancient wavered, half-dropping to one knee before he could catch himself. Berne's other foot swung around; Assurjan managed to catch the kick against an arm instead of his skull, but the impact knocked the axe from his grip and spun him aside, off-balance. Berne's hand clamped around his throat. "I should have killed you when you first arrived at my doorstep, Ashlander," he snarled, and hauled Assurjan to his feet.

Assurjan gripped Berne's wrist; there was no prying that death grip from his throat, he realized. Instead, he braced his feet under himself, pulled down as hard as he could, and drove his other hand upward. Raxle's elbow shattered against his hand with a hideous crunch, bones erupting from the skin of the joint, and the hand slipped limply from his throat.

Berne howled in pain and fury, kicking at Assurjan, broken arm hanging uselessly at his side, dripping blood. The Juraene Ancient avoided the kick easily, sending a cast bolt of lightning crackling towards the Imperial. It flowed harmlessly through the resistance spell that enchanted his armor, but the impact knocked Berne back a few paces, out of arms' reach.

They glared at one another across the space between them. Assurjan could sense the other Ancient's strength; still unabated, as much as his own.

Shouting, suddenly more frantic than before, drew both Ancients' attention to the battle at the edges of the clearing. Raema was at the center of a storm of fighting vampires, moving with blurring speed, leaving bodies sprawled left and right as she carved a path of destruction through her foes. At her side fought Jole, moving only slightly more slowly, guarding her back. The shouting came from Berne's forces, as they rallied each other to face the pair of them.

Raxle Berne glanced back at Assurjan, and smiled humorlessly. His lips moved, soundlessly, reciting a written spell. Assurjan dove for his axe, a few paces away, closing his fingers around the handle as five huge Bonewalkers shimmered into existence around him. He leapt to his feet, swinging as he did so; the axe bit deep into one creature's leg, spattering blood and gore. The Bonewalker howled, and then all five closed in, clawing at him with bare hands, assailing him with curses that pulled at his strength. Grimly, he hacked at them, ignoring their spells as well as he could. Beyond them, he caught a glimpse of Berne striding towards Raema, setting his broken elbow with a sharp jerk as he walked. Assurjan grimaced. He would have to hope she and Jole could fend off Berne until he finished with the five undead that surrounded him...

* * *

She had long since lost track of the bodies she let drop as she fought; the only thought in her head now was for blood, for power; for draining the life of anyone who dared come within her reach. A tiny part of Raema's rationality remained in the background of her awareness, remembering to be worried about Assurjan, remembering that the Redguard at her back was not someone she should attack. That part of her hoped no Juraene vampires came near her, because in her feverish hunger she would not be able to tell them apart from the others. She could hear nothing but screams, and blood pounding in her ears.

Another vampire slipped from her grip with lifeless, staring eyes. She started toward the next unlucky undead, when she heard a warning shout from behind her, and something crashed into her head, knocking her off-balance. She turned to see Raxle Berne looming over her, one arm dangling, reaching for her with the other. Snarling, Raema launched herself at him, feeding the instant his skin met hers. His power flooded into her, more than she could take; her vision swam blurrily, and her eyes were throbbing. His strength was too much, but the more she took, the more she wanted. She snapped at him, driving fangs into the skin below his ear. His blood was hot and metallic against her tongue; she drank it eagerly, knowing that too much was going to destroy her, and beyond caring.

Berne thrashed violently, but she clung to him, refusing to be shaken off. His good hand clutched her hair, jerking backward. She clenched her jaws, tearing a mouthful of flesh from his neck as he pulled himself free. He clamped his hand around her neck, holding her at arm's length, feeding from her as she did from him. The flow of strength between them wavered, balancing for a moment... Then Berne grinned as, slowly, the balance began to turn in his favor. He was drawing more from Raema than she took from him. She gritted her teeth and gave in completely to the hunger that raged within her, tearing at his strength with abandon, reaching for all she could take.

She was losing the battle, and they both knew it, but she would not- -

Berne grunted and staggered a step as if hit from behind. The supply of power that Raema reached for suddenly dimmed, like a half-shuttered lantern. She grimaced and continued to feed, while he did the same; the power was pulled back and forth between them like some magickal version of a children's game. They were almost evenly matched now, thanks to whichever vampire drained him with her, but it was not enough. If something didn't happen soon, he would drain her empty.

* * *

Assurjan had seen Jole struck aside, blindsided by Berne, and then one of the Bonewalkers had smashed a huge fist into his ribs, staggering him. His next glimpse had shown him Raema, clinging to Berne in an obscene parody of an embrace, feeding by touch and by blood. There were too many Bonewalkers, surrounding him too tightly; when he blocked one blow, three others struck him. One clipped the back of his head, and the hideous creatures swirled dizzily in his vision as he dropped to his knees. They descended on him, snarling. He hacked at them with the axe, fighting to get a glimpse of Raema between their bloody ankles.

They were feeding from each other, her and Berne, the two of them locked in a glowing haze of magicka as the power flowed from one to the other, and back again. She was strong, but he could see her weakening; Berne was draining her. Grimacing desperately, Assurjan flung the axe away. His slim chance would be reduced to nothing if the Bonewalkers got hold of a weapon. He cast a spell with a quick thought, flames that burst outward, searing the creatures with a sizzle of cooked flesh. They staggered backward, and in the moment's respite, he turned his attention to Raxle Berne, and the spell that could very well kill both of them.

Draining one's health from a distance was nothing like feeding. Without the contact of skin-to-skin, there was nowhere for the power to go-- and the effort was nearly as taxing to his own strength as his target's. He saw Berne stumble forward a step as the spell hit him, and then the Bonewalkers surged forward, raining blows and curses down on him. Assurjan held the spell desperately, as the creatures' own magicka sapped his strength.

Berne was thrashing in Raema's grip, struggling to shake off whatever unseen vampire was draining him. The Bonewalkers kicked at Assurjan; he felt a sharp crack in his ribs. His spell faltered under the wave of pain, under his attackers' curses, and his eyesight began to fade into tunnel vision, reddening as he was weakened. _No!_ He thought defiantly, clutching desperately at his control of the spell, draining both Berne and himself, and hoping fervently that Raema, or _someone_ , could....

It was Jole who, rising groggily to his feet, managed to snatch a knife from a fallen vampire's hand, and stagger towards Berne. The Redguard plunged the knife into the Ancient's skull; it slid easily upward, through the soft flesh behind his ear. The Ancient sagged limply, falling onto Raema, the blade slipping out of his skull. There was suddenly no strength for Assurjan to drain; the Bonewalkers winked out of existence.

As one, nearly half the vampires fighting nearby suddenly shuddered as their Ancient died. A triumphant roar rose up from Assurjan's clan as Berne's fighters turned to flee, or were cut down where they stood in shock. Without hesitating, Raema let the Ancient's corpse fall, still caught in the raging bloodlust that had overtaken her. She turned to snatch the nearest living body, the spell glowing in her hands before she even reached him. Unfortunately, the nearest living body was Jole. Assurjan pushed himself to his feet as the hunter shook her off and stumbled backward.

"Raema!" the hunter shouted, lurching dizzily aside while she pursued him, lost in the hunger. Jole shot Assurjan a pleading look, then raised the knife he still held.

* * *

A figure loomed up in her sight, blurred unrecognizably by the red haze filtering her vision. Her hand shot out towards it, the power in her body pulsing, throbbing. It had grown insatiably with each feeding, and still wanted  _more_ -

_"STOP!"_ Assurjan's Command exploded in her ears with a force stronger than anything his voice alone could have produced. Raema froze, quivering, torn between the craving to feed and the absolute authority in Assurjan's voice. For a long, interminable moment, she could hear only Assurjan's directive and the hungry whispers in her head, both echoing in her mind, warring with each other. Slowly, the whispers faded; her vision swirled before resolving into Jole, standing before her with a look of mixed relief and apprehension.

She glanced at Assurjan; he stood several paces away, bruised and bloodied. The last echoes of the compulsion died away. "It is over," he said quietly, his voice rasping in his throat.

 _Gods,_ she thought, slowly remembering that she was a person, an individual, more than just the hunger that had taken over. Jole lowered the knife he held, letting out a relieved sigh. "Don't frighten me like that, Raema," he admonished, with a half-hearted smile. He sat down heavily, feeling gingerly at his cheek, where a large bruise was beginning to blacken his skin.

Horrified by what she had nearly done to her friend, Raema swallowed back a wave of nausea. "Gods! I'm sorry, Jole-"

He waved her away, shaking his head and glancing towards Assurjan. She followed his gaze; the Ancient approached slowly, holding one arm against his side. She had never seen him so disheveled- blood and mud soaked his dark robes, and there was a dark green imprint of a hand around the skin of his throat. His normally dark skin had a sickly pallor to it. "Are you well?" he asked her quietly.

Before she could reply, Jole snorted. "She's probably the healthiest one here, Juraene."

Assurjan ignored him, holding her gaze. His eyes were glimmering, a hint of the growing hunger that was driven by his injuries. The battle with Berne, his fight to save her life, had weakened him immensely. She could sense it, and could not understand how he now managed to stay on his feet. There was so much she wanted to say, and it suddenly fled her mind as she realized the new danger: He needed to feed, to be healed, or any vampire who picked up a bow or a throwing knife could kill him where he stood.

She glanced over her shoulder. The small clearing where they had fought was mostly empty now; shouts of the fighters echoed in the surrounding rocks, but the vampires and others had all scattered in flight or pursuit when Raxle Berne fell. Still, it was not a chance she was willing to take... _not after all we have just been through,_ she thought.

Raema took a step closer, holding out her hand. "Jole is right, my lord," she murmured.

Assurjan raised an eyebrow; when she didn't retract her offer, he reached for her hand, taking hold of her fingertips. His skin was cool to the touch, and clammy; not a good sign. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth while he fed, drawing from the vast pool of power she had taken from Berne.

She felt her muscles quiver, their strength being pulled away, but he stopped sooner than she'd expected. As he let her hand go, she looked at him questioningly.

"Just enough," he said softly. "We must make haste; the sun will be rising shortly."

Surprised, she realized he was right. With everything that had happened, she hadn't even noticed.

Assurjan held her gaze for a moment longer, and then surprised her once more. "Ser Devan," he said, looking at Jole. "Though the sun will not harm you, you are wounded, and need rest. If you wish, we shall make you welcome in Telasero until you are recovered."

The vampire hunter blinked. "Er- thank you..." he managed, bemused.

Raema grinned, and extended a hand, helping the Redguard to his feet. "Don't forget that," he reminded her, with a nod toward the weapon that lay in the dirt where she and Berne had fallen.

She left him and went to retrieve her sword. It was a relief to have the familiar weight in her hand again, to know that the man who had taken it from her was dead. It was scuffed, and bloodstained; she didn't think he'd cleaned it once while he had it. With a grimace, she wiped the flat of the blade across her thigh, rubbing away the worst of the dirt.

Jole looked as if he were about to fall over. She hurried to his side and slung his arm over her shoulder, carrying the sheathless sword carefully in her other hand. "Let's go," she said, helping him limp after Assurjan. He had already begun to move toward the fortress, stopping to bend over fallen vampires on the way. Raema followed suit, with Jole awkwardly leaning against her. The still-living Juraene vampires they helped to their feet, while others were drained where they lay and left to join the rest of the ashes when the sun rose.

* * *

It took thirteen slaves, drained nearly to their own death, to restore Assurjan to health, even after he'd fed from a few Aundae and Berne vampires on the way back to the stronghold. As he let the last slave go, she staggered a few steps, skin pale with blood loss.

"Go," Assurjan said curtly, and she made her way unsteadily to the door, leaving him alone in the room he had taken for his own.

He smoothed his hands over the clean black robe he had donned, straightening the cloth, and glanced around the room. Books and a few chests of clothing were scattered between the four columns, left haphazardly in piles during the clan's hasty relocation. In one corner, behind a privacy screen, were what remained of his bath, little more than a rag and several now-bloody buckets of water. His gaze fell on the opposite corner, where a makeshift bed had been made from stacks of blankets and cushions, in anticipation of Raema's return. She would have no need of it yet, not until she was returned to full life.

 _She let pass the chance to be cured, in favor of coming to my aid_ \- _and it is fortunate that she did,_ he thought ruefully. If she and Jole had not returned when they did, he would likely be Berne's prisoner, locked up in his lair at Galom Daeus.

He had not yet had a moment to speak with her alone. They had dealt with the wounded vampires on their way back to the stronghold, and he had needed to feed, and bathe, and now she and a few other vampires were waiting for him in the antechamber of his rooms to discuss the next course of action.

Fleetingly, he entertained the thought of telling them all to go to Oblivion. He wanted nothing more than to be able to embrace Raema, to know that she was whole and well, and to sleep for days, nightmares or not. He allowed himself a tiny, rueful smile, and left the room.

The chamber was connected by a short hallway to an anteroom, which was just off the cavernous audience hall at the fortress' entrance. There, Irarak leaned against a side wall, arms folded. Raema stood near the far end of the room, talking to Talintus. She stopped when he entered, and met his eyes across the space between them. She had bathed and changed clothing as well; her reclaimed sword was slung across her back. There was so much between them, so much that Assurjan wanted to say, and they both knew that it would have to wait. She glanced away.

"Your report, Talintus," he said, wishing only to finish this meeting and send him away. The Imperial vampire stepped forward with a quick bow.

"We have less than a third of our strength remaining, my lord, though there may be some who have taken shelter for the day elsewhere and cannot return yet. Berne, Aundae and Quarra's vampires have fled the area; we don't know yet how many survived. I understand that Dhaunayne Aundae has been killed," he glanced at Raema, who nodded. "And there has been no more news of Volrina Quarra since yesterday morning."

Assurjan clenched his fists behind his back. "And the traitors?"

Talintus grimaced. "Long gone, my lord. I will have every vampire we can spare ready to hunt them down at nightfall."

"Do so. How is the Redguard?"

"Resting, my lord," Raema spoke up quietly. "We have no healer, with Berandise gone, but he's been given food and a place to rest undisturbed."

Assurjan nodded once. "He may stay as long as he requires. He has done Juraene clan a great service, and should receive recompense for it. See that the clan is made aware of this, Talintus- and give the hunter a message: Any action he takes against my clan in the future shall be met with retaliation, save for those who committed a betrayal tonight. See that he receives their names and descriptions. If he brings proof of their death to me, I shall pay him three times his customary fee."

Talintus bowed once more. "It'll be done, my lord. If there is nothing else...?"

Assurjan waved him away. As the Imperial left the room, Raema looked up at him. Her eyes were calmer now, with no hint of the glowing bloodlust behind them, but still the stony white gaze was disconcerting. He much preferred her eyes dark, and alive.

"Raema," he said quietly. "I believe you still have an engagement with Molag Bal to attend, if you so wish."

She blinked. "I- yes, but-"

"I would be remiss if I failed to inform you, Raema," he cut in, "that you have the potential to become an extremely powerful vampire. You have fed from a Daedra, if I am not mistaken...?"

She nodded, surprised. Off to the side, Irarak made a small sound of distaste.

"...and two Ancients, very early in your unlife. You are already far more powerful than a typical young blood. You may become an Ancient in your own right, someday."

She let out a little half-laugh, shocked. "Truly? That's....I can't even imagine..."

"The Ancient is right," Irarak put in. "The last young vampire I saw with such strength was Assurjan himself."

"Gods," she muttered, and looked back at Assurjan. "And you want me to become an Ancient? So that you can become the next Raxle Berne, and fear that one day I'll overthrow you?"

"I do not think that will happen. But I am offering you the choice, Raema. No more."

The irony of his words was not lost on either of them. She snorted. "No. No, I don't want it. I want to be healed, Assurjan-- I want to see the sun again." Her voice wavered, just a little.

He inclined his head, ignoring the relief that washed over him. "Then you may go as soon as you are ready."

She gave him a tiny smile. "Come with me, my lord," she said softly. "There is very little of the clan left, and no real threat to protect them against. You can leave all this behind."

With only a little reluctance, he shook his head once. "My responsibility is no different whether my clan is ten vampires strong, or one hundred. It is best that you go now, before you turn vampires of your own, and find yourself tangled in the same obligations as I. You are dismissed to prepare for your journey."

She bowed, and moved toward the door. "Raema," he said, and she paused. "You will return here when you have left the shrine."

It was not a question. He saw her eyes narrow, her mood shifting to fury as she realized he'd Commanded her. She clenched her fists at her sides; if she'd been standing any closer, he would have expected her to strike at him. "I would have returned anyway, _my lord_ ," she snapped icily, and strode out of the room, seething.

Irarak let out a laugh as the door slammed behind her. "That was a bloody foolish thing to do, Assurjan. Several bloody foolish things, as a matter of fact."

The Ancient eyed his old friend, who held up his hands. "Do forgive me," Irarak added. "You are the Ancient, after all- if you want to offer near-unlimited power to a subordinate after we've just seen the outcome of such actions, or turn down a chance to be rid of this unlife forever, or enrage a woman by exerting your power over her and forcing her to do something she would have done of her own accord, who am I to question your wisdom?"

Assurjan raised an eyebrow. "You yourself should have at least enough wisdom to understand one of those decisions."

The Berne vampire sobered, pushing away from the wall to pace across the room. "Yes," he admitted. "You're the only Ancient on the island. You have a chance to build nearly your own empire, with the others gone. Though I still think you must have been mad to offer some of that power to your Hand."

 _I would have shared it with her, if she had wanted it,_ Assurjan thought, but he said nothing. Irarak stopped his pacing, turning to look at him.

"It occurs to me to remind you of our agreement, Assurjan. I lost a number of my people fighting for you, and the rest of us will still require your protection."

"You shall have it," Assurjan replied. "It is the least I can do to repay you for all your assistance."

"Thank you, old friend," Irarak said, smiling. "If there's nothing further, I'll take my leave. I don't think I want to be here when your Hand returns..."

* * *

As before, the voice of Molag Bal resonating in her head was a discordant mess of unfamiliar syllables, echoing off the inside of her skull, overwhelming in its strangeness. Translation of his speech followed on its heels, a sudden understanding where before there had been only confusion.

“ _...YOUR CURSE IS LIFTED. YET... I WONDER, WILL YOU MISS THE TASTE OF BLOOD ON YOUR LIPS? WHEN YOU SLEEP, WILL YOU TASTE THE SALT AND COPPER FLOWING OVER YOUR TONGUE? GO, MORTAL. BASK IN YOUR PRECIOUS SUNLIGHT.”_

Abruptly, she could see again; she was staring at the stone floor of the shrine, bathed in torchlight. It was warm and rough under her palms. Jole grasped her arm, pulling her to her feet. “Let me see,” he demanded, turning her to face him, and then his familiar grin broke out. “Praise Vivec, it worked!”

“Praise Molag Bal, mortal, for this blessing is his work,” said the priestess, standing a few paces away.

“She’s right,” Raema said, running her tongue over her teeth. No fangs. Gods, she wanted to weep for joy. She blinked back tears, realizing she was ravenous... for real food, not blood. Best of all, she had no idea whether it was day or night. “How long--?”

“Not long at all. A few minutes, at the most. How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” she admitted, and Jole grinned.

“I thought you would be. I brought some provisions. And I thought we might share with you, sera,” he added, glancing at the priestess.

The Dunmer woman smiled. “The God of Schemes provides for my needs,” she said serenely. “I ask only that you dedicate the meal in his name before partaking.”

“We will,” Raema said. “Thank you.”

True to her word, she and Jole both said a prayer of thanks to Molag Bal before tearing apart the loaf of bread that Jole had brought. They ate in companionable silence for a time, seated near the entrance to the shrine. Even when she’d been half-starved as a farm slave, Raema had never been so grateful for a meal. The bread and cheese and fruit that Jole had brought was the greatest feast she had ever eaten, and she was too busy enjoying it to speak for quite some time.

“So,” Jole said with a smile after finishing his meal. “Are you ready to join me in the hunt? Live a life of adventure while chasing down vampires, secure in the knowledge that you’ll never be turned?”

Raema raised her eyebrows, amused. “Was that the plan?” she asked around a mouthful of bread.

“I thought it might be. I could use a partner. Unless you had other ideas...?”

She swallowed. “I’m going back to Telasero,” she said, without looking up.

Jole leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Did he compel you?” he demanded. “I swear on the stones of Vivec’s holy city, I'll--”

“No,” she lied. _If he hadn’t, I would have given Jole the same answer._ “It’s... just something I have to do.” She put down the fruit she held, all appetite gone.

“Alright,” he said, dubiously. “But remember what I told you, Raema.”

His words came back to her, spoken the day after Assurjan had found the two of them in Molag Amur. _You can’t fall in love with a vampire, Raema. Vampires don't love you back. They hate, they hunger and they kill, but they don't love._ “I remember,” she said, and forced herself to laugh. “And it’s just as irrelevant now as it was then.”

“If you say so,” Jole said doubtfully, and began to gather what little remained of the food. Raema helped him put it away, and changed the subject.

“Be careful who you’re hunting,” she told him. “I don’t want to be sent after you because you killed one of ours, Jole.”

He grinned at her, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. There are more than enough vampires-- _without_ vengeful Ancients-- for me to hunt, now. But I’ll hold Assurjan to his promise, if I catch one of your rogue undeads. Triple my fee, he said.”

“If they’re still on the island,” she pointed out, heading for the door. “If I were Silweyn, or one of the others, I’d be on a boat to Solstheim by now.”

She stepped out into the night; it was cool, and the sky was clear. Stars gleamed overhead, doubly bright in the absence of the moon that night. As soon as she stepped foot on the dirt outside the shrine, she felt Assurjan’s command pulling at her, drawing her eastward. She gritted her teeth, forcing it to wait until she’d said goodbye.

“You sure you won’t change your mind?” Jole asked, closing the door behind him.

“I’m sure. You be careful, Jole.”

“You too,” he said, pulling her into a quick embrace. “Especially you.” He let her go, and his grin flashed in the darkness. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a lovely lady- or three- eagerly awaiting my return to Vivec.”

She laughed, watching him stride southward into the night. She could only stand motionless for a few moments; the spell Assurjan had placed on her was tightening its grip, tugging her towards Telasero. Muttering an angry curse, she turned east and made her way back to the stronghold.

* * *

Ahead of her, the stars were just beginning to fade into the pale hints of sunlight when Telasero's silhouette appeared before her. She had planned her words in advance on the journey home, running over and over them in her mind, choosing them carefully. She hoped that Assurjan would know she  _had_ thought them through, rather than speaking on impulse. As she approached the fortress, and the reality of facing Assurjan drew nearer, she hoped she'd have the courage to say them.

She climbed the steps up the side of the fortress and let herself into the hut-like entrance. Inside, two vampires stood guard; they bowed to her when she entered. Raema nodded curtly and hurried past them, drawn deeper into the fortress by Assurjan's Command.

The large audience chamber was empty, and so was the anteroom in Assurjan's quarters. She felt the urgency driving her feet suddenly ease as she entered; she had fulfilled the conditions for the spell to be lifted.

 _Turn around_ , she thought. _You can walk away now. It's almost daylight, you'll have an entire day's head start on anyone he sends after you. Turn around and leave, before he knows you've returned._

Shaking her head, she ignored the thoughts, though they seemed to suggest a more sensible plan than what she was about to do instead. Striding down the hall to Assurjan's inner chamber, she adjusted her sword, checking that it still hung comfortably within easy reach.

 _Stop that_ , she told herself, when she realized what she was doing. _You're not going in there to fight. You're only talking._ She made herself release the sword, and paused in front of the door, drawing in a deep breath.

Inside the sparsely furnished room, Assurjan was seated cross-legged on a thick cushion, a book in his hands. He looked better than he had the last time she saw him; more rested. He wore his usual dark robes, and his black hair fell in a braided, whip-like cord from the crown of his skull. He rose gracefully to his feet when she entered, setting the book aside.

Raema closed the door behind herself and hesitated. “You wanted to see me when I had been cured, my lord,” she said, managing to keep the still-smoldering anger from her voice.

“Come here,” he said, and she went, stopping a few paces away. His eyes searched her face, confirming that she had been restored to the living. “How do you feel?” He asked softly.

“Besides being crushed under a spell that suborns my will, even though I would have chosen _freely_ to do what you ordered?” She asked harshly. When he said nothing, waiting for her to finish, she answered truthfully. “I feel wonderful.”

Assurjan let a hint of a smile grace his lips. “I am glad. I apologize for the compulsion. It was all too easy to imagine that you would take your newfound power and try to leave before we had an opportunity to speak.”

“You don’t know me very well, my lord,” Raema said quietly.

“Perhaps not,” he allowed. “Raema… Do you understand why it was necessary for me to turn you?”

“I understand. And it probably saved my life. But that-“

“It saved all our lives, in the end,” he interrupted. “If I had not turned you, to _protect_ you, Raxle Berne would have done it instead. The battle would have had a vastly different outcome… but that aside, I could not simply let you walk into his hands. You belong to me, Raema, and I held back as much of you from him as I could.”

Frowning, Raema opened her mouth to retort, to ask how he could have been so sure… and then she remembered something she’d forgotten in the chaos of the past few days: She had only been caught by Berne because she had gone into his lair a second time, against Assurjan’s wishes. _Maybe he knows me better than I thought,_ she realized, a little sheepishly, and changed what she had been about to say.

“Be that as it may,” she began. Her voice threatened to tremble under the weight of her words; she willed it to be strong. “The _why_ does not make amends for the _how_. I trusted you, Assurjan. I gave myself to you, I trusted you enough to sleep in your arms, and you took advantage of that trust, you let me walk out of the lair _knowing_ that I would come back to you undead, and didn't even tell me. Do you know how betrayed, how _alone_ I felt when I realized what had happened? And I was _lucky!_ Berne ordered me killed when he realized I couldn’t be commanded. I was just fortunate he didn’t have the time to do it himself!” Her voice had escalated to a near-shout, she realized. Clenching her fists to keep them from trembling, she forced herself to wait for Assurjan’s reply.

To her surprise, his dark features wore a look of sadness. “It was indeed inexcusable,” he said. “I can only ask that you forgive me, Raema.”

His words took her aback; she blinked. She could not remember him _ever_ requesting her forgiveness. The surprise cooled her anger, leaving her with an odd sensation of relief. She hadn’t imagined he would truly agree with her, much less ask her fogiveness.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then she nodded once. “I do,” she whispered, afraid that her voice would break over tears if she spoke any louder.

His lips curved in a smile; she had never seen him look so relieved. _Gods_ , she thought. She wanted to kiss him so badly, to wrap her arms around his chest and forget the entire mess of horrifying events since the night they had spent in bed. _But…_

Assurjan raised a hand towards her face. Raema hesitated, watching him move, feeling a jolt run through her when he touched her skin, brushing his fingertips over her cheek. Then she stepped back, forcing leaden feet to move in the opposite direction that they wanted. He let his hand fall. "Raema..."

She swallowed hard, and forced herself to meet his eyes evenly. "You took more than I was willing to give, last time, my lord, and I won't freely give you another opportunity. If you want me, my lord, you will have to force me."

He blinked. Something very close to hurt flashed across his face, and was gone almost immediately. If she hadn’t been watching for a reaction, she would have missed it. "Raema," he said quietly, sounding surprised. "You know I will not."

"Until recently, I knew you wouldn't turn me into a vampire, either," she shot back. The words came out harsher than she had intended, and she wished instantly that she could take them back. They were already said, however, and she could no more unsay them than she could raise the dead.

Assurjan stared at her, and there was a pause, silent and weighted. He did not move, not even a flicker of an eyelid, but something in his manner changed. She watched his expression become closed, shutting her out, wiping away any trace of familiarity. Raema hadn’t seen him look like that since the night they'd first met. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight and emotionless. "Very well, Hand," he said formally. "You are dismissed. I will send for you when I have need of your service."

She managed not to wince at his words. With a low bow, she turned to leave, willing herself to retain her composure until she was out of sight.

At the door, however, something made her stop and turn to look back at him. Jole’s advice ran through her mind, and something prompted her to voice it, driven by the reckless belief that she couldn’t make the Ancient any angrier than he already was.

“Do vampires love, Assurjan?”

If anything, his face grew even more stony. There was no inflection in his voice as he replied. “Some do.”

His words, and their unspoken implications, tore open that imaginary wound again. Without a word, she let herself out of the room, feeling his eyes on her back as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

Sunrise was a riot of colors, painting bright rose on the undersides of purple clouds. As the sun crept over the tops of the mountains, shortening the shadows, Raema wrapped her arms around her knees and basked in the ever-growing warmth.  _Thank the gods_ , she thought.  _Bosmer aren’t meant to never see the sun._

She flexed her right hand, eyeing the healed, mottled skin where Molag Grunda had gnawed at her flesh. The memory of feeding off the Daedra made her grimace; that was one of many events from her time as a vampire that she’d rather forget.

 _That, and what I’ve just done, to name a few_ , she thought ruefully. Assurjan’s reply to her question still echoed painfully in her memory. Even worse was the possibility that he might have given her a different answer, if she hadn’t alienated him just moments before.

 _Don’t be ridiculous_ , she told herself. _You’re not in love, remember? _

She fought back a despairing laugh. "Not that it matters," she muttered. _I'm still a slave. Love is a luxury I'm not allowed to have._

The sun broke fully over the mountains, bathing the fortress in brightness. Raema leaned back on her palms and squinted up at the clear sky, relishing the sunlight. A wave of optimism stole over her, despite herself. She was alive again, with her time as a vampire little more than a long nightmare from which she'd just awakened. She was a slave, yes, but she was second-in-command to one of the most powerful and feared groups on the island. And someday, when Juraene clan was truly strong, and thriving, Assurjan would set her free.

Raema lay back on the warm stones, hands folded under her head. She refused to think about whether she truly trusted the Ancient to honor his promise. Instead, she closed her eyes against the warmth beaming down upon her, and smiled.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
